In Your Heart Shall Burn
by Juren
Summary: In the aftermath of the masquerade at Halamshiral, Solas and Athelanna Lavellan turn their eyes towards destroying Corypheus. Skyhold is abuzz with activity to ramp up for an attack. Still, amidst the chaos, Solas and Athelanna try to understand their relationship. Solas x Lavellan romance. Rated M for sex, violence, and profanity. There will be spoilers.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

He was not the loudest one, nor the biggest one, nor the most traditionally handsome in Skyhold. His talents lie elsewhere, in those of the Fade, histories, and magic. Where would they be without him? The Inquisition would be chasing its tale, still unsure of itself as it tried to rectify southern Thedas from the holes in the sky spewing demons and darkspawn magisters. Without him, they would be nothing more than Chantry pariahs.

She was able to admire him from the desk. The surface was littered with books, loose pieces of parchment paper with sketches and snatches of elegant script. Some of her own reports and intelligence were amongst the mess – spy reports, reports on alliances and nobility, as well as the needs of the Inquisition soldiers. She tried not to muddy the already messy desk; Solas didn't appreciate her adding to his mess.

The two worked in silent harmony. The ruffling of papers and the soft brushstrokes on the wall made its own gentle music with subtle beats and a delicate rhythm. Sometimes the elven apostate hummed pieces of hymns and melodies from times long ago that he was able to learn in the Fade. A veilfire torch washed the painted wall with a crisp, blue light. Athelanna put down her report on Lady Beverly's recent affair with Duke Antoine to watch the elf make his careful brushstrokes on the fresco detailing their recent victory at the Orlesian palace of Halamshiral.

Josephine and Leliana had diligently prepared her in the Game. By the end of the evening, dozens of nobles of varying ranks were eating out of her hand. Briala and Celene were once again reunited, Gaspard's head to be taken, and the Duchess was being shoved into a box to be shipped to Skyhold. Apparently that made for an excellent masquerade.

Athelanna had a newfound appreciation for the Game after leaving the palace. There was something exhilarating proving to nobles that a Dalish elf could play it better than they. She could hear the whispers behind elegant hands, unpleasant whispers about her ears and the _vallaslin_ on her face. Solas had received those ugly whispers, but if he heard them he never revealed his hurt. While Athelanna had the rank of Inquisitor to lessen the poison in their darts, Solas had no such cushion. He was a stranger with knife-ears and magic in his veins.

The Game, however, was not her favorite part of the evening. Her heart sang when Solas bowed and held out his hand, entreating a dance from her. He told her, he didn't want to dance in front of the dozens of nobles. Athelanna would have danced with him on the ballroom floor. The Game had been won and the matter of her birth, her form, or her ears did not seem an issue. As the strings filtered out onto the balcony, lovely notes singing victory to them, they danced. He held a hand at her waist, the other in the air, embraced with one of her own. The only dancing she had ever done was during celebrations of her people. To dance in the Winter Palace, with gilded balustrades and intricate pillars, was a dream.

She loved being so close to him in the thrum of victory. Solas came alive in the Winter Palace, his eyes bright and earnest. Their feet moved across the floor to the beat of the music, their bodies pressed up against each other. She had tempted the first kiss. Then he returned with something deep and gently passionate. He whispered to her in his mother tongue, voice a decibel louder than the band. In between shy smiles and whispered secrets, they kissed; long and slow. A mischievous hand left her waist, traveling to her read end…

Athelanna felt her cheeks redden. Her eyes refocused on Solas and she realized she had been staring during her daydream. The Dalish grabbed the nearest book – _The Way of the Rift Mage _– and pretended to read it. As a hunter for her clan, Athelanna's understanding of magic was very base. She understood daggers, bows, and killing animals. She still didn't quite understand how she was so adept at closing rifts. Solas tried to explain the magic behind it, but her attention often drifted elsewhere. Much like it was now as she pretended to understand the words but her attention was fixated on the quiet elven man crouched on the platform, studying a sketch as to where the balcony was to be placed. Athelanna hoped she would not have to pose later.

Gray eyes hovered over the top of _The Way of the Rift Mage_ to continue watching him in secret. Every time his head turned a little her way, she quickly pulled the book up above her eyes. Even after their lovely evening at Halamshiral, Athelanna was determined to not flaunt her ardor to his face. She instead channeled all of those unspoken feelings to Dorian a floor above. While she trusted the Tevinter with her deepest of secrets, she still worried Dorian would accidentally let a snippet slip to Solas on their long travels. She began to raise her eyes above the book, inch by inch, to see if Solas was occupied with the fresco again.

But he was gone. Athelanna scanned the platform to be sure but yes; Solas was not anywhere near or on it. "How long have you been watching me, Vhenan? You are not so secretive as you might think," he whispered to her right. The Dalish clutched the edges of the book to prevent any frightened squeaks from surfacing. He was wiping an array of paint from his fingers with a dirty rag, a grin pulling at his lips. He always grinned like that when he caught her red-handed.

"I wasn't watching you. As you can clearly see, I've been catching up on some reports," Athelanna fibbed, and poorly. She noticed his eyes on the book. Athelanna reached immediately for an actual report. Solas raised an eyebrow. She cleared her throat. "Honestly, do you think I would waste my precious, important time – I _am _the Inquisitor, in case you've forgotten – watching you? Oh Solas, I wasn't aware you were so vain to think I would behave like a dithering schoolgirl," Athelanna snapped the book shut, forcing a chuckle. She proceeded to gather up her reports. When she looked up at Solas, he was still grinning that infuriatingly handsome grin.

"Of course. I apologize if I've offended you. Clearly you've been working very hard, Inquisitor," Solas said, bowing his head ever so slightly in feigned deference.

Athelanna tucked a white-blonde braid back behind her pointed ear. She pulled the mess of reports closer to her chest. "Thank you. I accept your apology, Solas," she said stiffly. The lithe Inquisitor attempted to sidestep the apostate, but was caught between him and his high-backed chair. Solas reached out. Athelanna's breath caught in her throat. He pulled the reports from her arms and proceeded to straighten them. He then gently handed them back, neatly stacked.

"Sister Nightingale would not take kindly to her reports looking like Sera went through them," Solas said. Athelanna screamed on the inside but smiled despite her rage.

"Thank you. I'll be off now. I have many things that demand my attention," Athelanna stiffened her back and marched towards the main hall.

"Inquisitor? Athelanna? Do you have many duties to attend to tonight? I was hoping you could spare a few hours from your many reports and meetings to journey into the Fade with me. I have some places that you may find interesting. If you have time from your busy schedule, that is," Solas' grin had yet to leave his face. Athelanna knew that he knew everything. He was toying with her like a fat housecat plays with a mouse. But there she was, a quivering mouse waiting on bated breath, waiting to see if he pounced or let her run to safety.

Athelanna glanced over her shoulder. His claws were already in her. "I-I should be free later in the evening. If you'd like to stop by my quarters later, you are more than welcome to," Athelanna grimaced, knowing how that sounded. "So we can journey into the Fade," the Dalish added quickly. She wasn't willing to appear overeager. She was definitely not a dithering schoolgirl. No, she was Inquisitor Lavellan – the leader of an army that would save the world from rifts and demons - a Dalish hunter of no ill repute. So why did this elf make her _feel _like a dithering schoolgirl?

"Excellent. I'll see you after nightfall then, Vhenan," Solas said with a smile.

Athelanna scurried out of room and into the main hall. She walked passed Varric caught up in reciting a story to a group of noblewomen (fans of his work, she presumed) and passed a countless amount of merchants, noblemen and women from all over Thedas bowing their heads to her. She went straight to her chambers. She needed a moment to collect her thoughts.

"Ah, I was thinking you'd forgotten me. I was correct, apparently," Dorian was lounging on her grand Orlesian bed, a platter of peeled grapes and fine Dalish cheeses next to him. "Playing cat and mouse with our dear Solas again, Inquisitor? Tsk, tsk. What will people say? Especially since the Inquisitor cannot remember her dinner engagements," the Tevinter smirked and popped a grape into his mouth.

Athelanna ignored him and went to put her papers down on the desk. "People might gossip about us, Dorian. What would the Iron Bull think if he was to learn you were lying on my bed with grapes and cheeses, waiting for me to return? Are you a switch hitter, my dear Dorian?" Athelanna replied. It only made the Tevinter smirk even more.

"I think Bull would wonder when you were going to join us and not this silly jealousy thing you speak of," Dorian answered coyly. It was probably true, Athelanna realized. She remembered Bull asking Varric if Bianca was willing to join in.

There was no winning with Dorian. She sighed and sprawled out on the bed. "Did you at least bring wine?" she murmured into the sheets.

Dorian barked a laugh. "Did I bring wine? You must not know me at all," the Tevinter was still chuckling as he got up to fetch the wine.

The Inquisitor sat up as Dorian offered her a glass. She took several large gulps and held the glass out for another refill. Maybe the wine would help with her heart thundering in her chest. "All right. Tell Dorian all of your troubles," Dorian poured her another glass.

"He wants to go into the Fade, Dorian." Athelanna sighed and sipped at the wine.

"And?" Dorian asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Well, shit, I don't know... I mean, we went into the Fade before... but the last time..." Athelanna groaned in frustration. She was having a hard time vocalizing what she wanted to say. "The last time - I told you what happened." She looked at him pleadingly, hoping he would understand where she was going. Dorian was much more eloquent than she. Perhaps he could say what she needed to get off her chest.

Dorian chuckled quite sensibly. "Are you worried that our master Solas might try to put the moves on you? I don't know if he _knows_ what is underneath a woman's clothes. Do _you_ know what's underneath a man's clothes? I never took you for a virgin, my dear Athelanna, but perhaps that explains why you are so flustered." He selected a piece of cheese and nibbled on the edge.

A bark of a laugh ripped from her throat and she nearly choked on her wine. "Me? A virgin? Dorian don't be daft. No, I used to dance and make love with many elves under the full moon while the rest of my clan watched on." She rolled her eyes when Dorian looked shocked. "I was joking. Don't take me seriously."

"That would be quite the tale if it were true. Sounds a little messy, however. Anyways - what were we talking about? - ah yes. Sexy time with Solas. If you're not sure how to attract an intelligent man like Solas, perhaps I could give you some ideas? Or perhaps Bull - he is _very adventurous. _He would show you how to turn Solas from the Fade and to your pretty little self." Dorian was smirking from behind his wine glass. She knew he was having fun teasing her. The Tevinter had a barbed tongue. If she was not so well acquainted with him, Athelanna might think Dorian didn't like her. But Dorian did not share fine wine and cheese with just _anyone._

"If you or Bull gave me tips, I'm sure Solas would leave me to the spiders," Athelanna replied. "I'll just have to figure this one out when it comes. Who knows? Maybe he'll find an interesting part of the Fade and he won't even think about sex," she said with a shrug.

"I can show you a dance that will turn his attention from the Fade. It involves a few dozen silk scarves…" Dorian said, a smirk playing at his lips.

"No."

"Bull seems to – "

"Absolutely not."

"Humph. Well, do you want to make this interesting? A few Royals on if you do the do?" Dorian refreshed both of their glasses.

Athelanna giggled. "Do the do? And you were trying to give _me _sexual advice? I ought to ask Sera on the art of seduction."

"That would be a disaster. Are you in on the bet or not? I could use some easy money." Dorian's dark eyes danced with amusement.

She shrugged her shoulders. "Why not? I love to wipe the confidence off of your face." Athelanna found her purse on the desk and tossed a few coins at Dorian's head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Dorian had given her very little good advice on the subject of Solas. In his way, Dorian managed to steer the conversation back to him and, of course, the Iron Bull. Then about Tevinter. Then about the noblemen's families he could scandalize by revealing what they had _done _to each other in private. She loved the Tevinter mage as she would a brother, but he wasn't very good at giving solid advice. He was much better at making jokes that would make Mother Giselle's ears shrivel into her head.

"You should go to your Iron Bull. I'm not going to need those scarves either. You can shove them up your, no, nevermind. You'll just take me seriously," Athelanna aimed a peeled grape at the mage's head as he left the bed.

With a flick of his wrist, the grape burst into a ball of flame. "You mustn't be so short with me. It really hurts my feelings," Dorian said, a smirk curved at his lips. "Dream well, Inquisitor." The shock of black hair and tediously trimmed mustache left her chambers. She could hear him whistling a merry tune even beyond the heavy wooden door and the ravens screeching at the intruder.

Athelanna sighed heavily and fell back onto the mattress. Orange light filtered through Dalish glass, scattering the colored light in dazzling arrays. She turned her head to face the opened doors. The cool mountain air stirred the curtains. Her face was warm from the wine and made her gray eyes droop. Determined to stay awake, Athelanna rose from the bed and sat at her desk to sift through unread reports. Josephine's elegant script swam before her eyes. She glanced out the windows towards the mountains where the sun was beginning to sink behind the Frostbacks. There was still an hour or so before nightfall.

The Dalish hid from the cold underneath the thick quilts of her Orlesian-styled bed. She would be able to hear if her door opened and wake up before he was able to spy her sleeping. Athelanna closed her eyes.

The air was cold when she awoke to the door closing. Moonlight filled her quarters with a cold, blue light. A tall, lithe figure soundlessly padded passed her bed to the balcony doors. The breeze was closed off and then, with a wave of his hand, the candles scattered throughout her quarters ignited with veilfire. "Vhenan, are you ready to go?" his voice broke the chill.

She rubbed her eyes and sat up. "Of course. I just… nodded off for a few moments. If you're hungry, there is a plate of grapes and Dalish cheese," Athelanna clumsily rolled off the bed and to the storage room where she kept her armor and bow. She pulled on her cleanest, least bloodstained armor she had – something lighter than she would normally wear into the wilderness. She slung her quiver, loaded with newly fletched arrows, over her shoulder and her bow clipped to it. "Will we see those giant spiders you've spoken of? Will I have to… shoot them?" Athelanna shivered at the thought.

"I brought food for the spiders. They shouldn't be any trouble," Solas said with a knowing smile. He rose from the bed and took Athelanna's white hand. "You charm Orlesian nobles into loving a Dalish elf and you're afraid of spiders, Vhenan? I would think the Orlesians would be more frightening than our eight-legged friends."

Athelanna wrinkled her nose. "Orlesian nobles only have two arms to hold you down with. Spiders have eight and a pair of pincers," she replied. She made pinching gestures with her hands.

Solas led her from her quarters and out Skyhold's main gate. Their hands drifted apart the moment they entered the Main Hall. There were inquisitive glances from the soldiers as the elves passed by. It was not especially scandalous – it was bound to happen sometime. Athelanna had heard of bets on the companion she would end up with. Dorian had drunkenly admitted that he had bet on the bearded Blackwall whilst Varric's bid for Cullen. Both had lost their Royals… to the Iron Bull, of course. The Qunari spy was an excellent judge of character. She had to take their word for the story – Athelanna's memory was rather hazy.

The path beyond Skyhold's gate was wide and lit every dozen feet with lampposts. Soon, the lights were just specks on the horizon. The lights faded into nothingness, opening up the sky with millions upon millions of stars. Solas lit a torch to light their path. Athelanna eyed his free hand as it moved with each step. It was inches from her hand, just begging her to take it. She took a deep breath and took his hand in hers.

She saw him smile from the corner of her eye. A smile spread at her lips. They continued to walk in silence, savoring the closeness that was so rarely allotted to either of them.

It was nearly an hour later when Solas slowed to a halt. The camps were far beyond them now. The breeze stirred the sole tree at the base of the mountain. "Here we shall make camp, Vhenan," Solas said. Their hands parted. He removed his pack and began to pull out the bedrolls. Athelanna unrolled the bedrolls while Solas put the tent up with a few gestures of his hands. She marveled at the ease he controlled magic.

"It's so beautiful and peaceful here," Athelanna remarked. She set her pack next to her bedroll. She laid on her back and put her arms behind her head.

"Indeed. The Veil is quite thin here. It will make our journey into the Fade very simple," Solas said as he finished his wards.

"Where are we traveling to? The battle of Kirkwall? To one of the stories you mentioned before?" Athelanna rolled onto her side, her hand supporting her head. "Or we could go back to Haven," the Dalish said coyly, making no effort to hide the tone of her voice. There was no risk of being interrupted by a messenger, one of their companions… anybody, really.

Solas sat down on the bedroll with her. Athelanna seized the opportunity to lay her head on his lap. "Not quite. We'll be visiting Halamshiral before the Empire of Orlais conquered it. I figured it would be suitable after your tremendous victory," Solas smiled. His long fingers smoothed out her white-blonde hair. "You and your Mark proved to be very efficient and traveling the Fade."

"Will the wards hold? While we dream?" she asked softly.

"Of course. Now, I need you to close your eyes," Solas sidled next to the Inquisitor, his arm snaking under her head.

Athelanna wasn't quite ready to close her eyes. She wanted to keep them open, to savor the sight in front of her. Solas chuckled while he put his palm over her eyes. She huffed and closed her eyes. "Now, listen to the crickets off in the distance. Concentrate on the rhythm, their harmonies…"

She listened to Solas' voice, his steady breathing as it matched the crickets far off in the distance. As much as she was tempted to open her eyes, to watch him, Athelanna refrained. The gentle in and out of his breathing, the crickets with their harmonies… She slipped into the Fade.

"Welcome to the ancient elven city, Halamshiral," Solas' voice brought her focus to the front of her mind. Athelanna opened her eyes and her jaw dropped in wonderment.

"It's amazing," the Inquisitor agreed.

They stood on the outskirts of the city, just beyond the gates. The wall, made of a peculiar ore, was sheer and tall. Elves stood at the top, sporting elegant bows in their hands. Dozens of patrols paced the walls. There was uneasiness in the air. It was just before nightfall. The gates were swung open. Solas and Athelanna went deeper into the city.

Halamshiral was unlike any city she had ever seen. Val Royeaux had left her slack-jawed. Halamshiral… was an incredible sight. The elves had worked their magic into every inch of the ancient city. Trees had been trained into fantastical shapes of gods and goddesses, hallas and griffons. The houses were elegant, even the more humble of houses were worked with magic to create beautiful balconies supported without pillars and gardens on the roofs. As Solas led her deeper into the city, the houses became more fantastic, with multiple stories, mosaics, even gold wrought into pillars. "Can you imagine living in a time where the elves were free? The Dalish were not forced to wander. Magic was as common as breathing, talking," Solas gestured towards an elf sculpting with the use of magic.

"Not to mention the topiaries are much more interesting than ours," Athelanna said with a grin.

Solas laughed. They continued on through the city. They explored every inch of the city as the sun dipped below the horizon. The pair watched as a group of elven children played games in a courtyard filled with interesting topiaries and flowers she had never seen before. Not far from the courtyard, a wizened little man was fusing metals together in a shop with the aid of magic. "I wonder how different my life – our lives – would have been if there had never been an Exalted March. No alienages… perhaps my family could have lived in one of those quaint houses with the garden on the roof. You could practice magic without Sera threatening you with an arrow through the throat," Athelanna let go of Solas' hand and went to inspect the magical welder. He was fusing the metals into antlers, presumably for the bust of a finished, pearlescent halla lying on a bench nearby. She felt the elven apostate come to her side. "We could openly celebrate our heritage. Maybe the court announcer wouldn't have called you my 'elven serving man'," Athelanna smiled. She couldn't mope about what "could have been" forever.

"Things might have been different, yes, but it also could have been much worse," Solas said. He retrieved her hand. "Let us not dwell on sad thoughts. I've got more to show you."

So they continued to explore the city. The sun had long since set. Hundreds of lamps were lit by elves rushing around the city, alighting the posts with magic. Solas showed her all sorts of small wonders. There were humans living in Halamshiral as well – which surprised her – but they lived in their own sector. _Interesting how the tables have turned._ Athelanna mused. The two came upon an altar to the goddess Andruil in the center of town. It was quaint, with intricate flowers lining a rectangular pool. Statues of halla and other game, all in movement, were amongst the flora. Solas sat at the edge of the pool, his legs crossed. "Sit with me."

Athelanna obliged and sat next to him. "Thank you for coming with me. I knew you alone would appreciate the history of our people," Solas said. He smiled at her.

"Solas, this has been wonderful," Athelanna leaned against the apostate. She was very at peace here. Andruil had a special place in her heart. Before a hunt, Athelanna offered the huntress gifts and murmured petitions. After a successful hunt, she would share a piece of the game to Andruil. "Is this the last stop on our trip?"

"Indeed," Solas answered. He looked out across the pond, contemplative.

Athelanna sat in silence with Solas for a while. Lightning bugs danced lazily in the air, attracted to the bowl of fire Andruil held at the fore of the pond. She unlaced her boots and set them aside. She cast a sidelong glance at Solas, but he seemed to be thinking very hard about something. _Dorian will shit his smallclothes when I tell him what I'm about to do… _The Inquisitor stood, stepping out of the apostate's view. She steeled her resolve, took a deep breath, and then sidled her leggings off. Athelanna made sure Solas was still wrapped up in his own head before she pulled the rest of her armor off. She laid her armor down as quietly as she could. Solas was still contemplating. Athelanna pulled her tunic over her head, her leggings down her ankles.

Her heart was thundering in her chest. _You were sent through a fade rift into the future, survived an avalanche that leveled Haven, defeated a demon army on Adamant fortress, sent physically into the Fade, and defeated Corypheus' plot to murder the Queen. I think you can walk out in front of Solas as naked as your name day. _Athelanna took a deep breath to calm her nerves and took her first tentative step forward. She eased into the pool, the water as cool as it was centuries ago. "Care to join me?" Athelanna called to him with a confidence she did not feel.

That snapped Solas out of his own head. "What… what are you doing?" the apostate sputtered. He deliberately avoided looking anywhere but her face.

"I was warm so I decided to take a dip in the pool of my goddess," Athelanna thrived on the red that crept across his pale face and into his pointed ears. She stood, uncovered from the waist up.

"You can't possibly… you must come out at once!" Solas demanded.

"If you want me out you'll just have to come get me," Athelanna smiled.

Solas stared at her, his expression incredulous. "Fine. I'll come get you." He removed his outer robe, garbed in his tights and tunic, and climbed into the waist-high pool. Athelanna made no move to avoid him. The apostate waded out into the center of the pool to where the Inquisitor stood. Solas gently took her wrist and smiled his toothless smile. "Got you."

"Now what? Are you going to drag me out of the pool? Scold me? Take me over your knee?" Athelanna smirked and moved closer to the apostate.

"You would like that, wouldn't you? No, I'm going to keep you right here," Solas still kept his gaze to her face, his free hand caressing her chin with his fingertips. His fingertips traced the scar on her jawline. "You never told me how you got this scar," he murmured, his face just inches from hers. Athelanna could not help but admire his conviction. Most men would have looked at her chest by now. _He is not most men._

Her heart was beating harder than it ever had. "Um… well… I was hunting a herd of halla with Fennar and Lerel – both were my Keeper's sons – and I got separated from them as I was chasing an injured halla. I had killed it and wasn't paying much attention as I was trussing the legs. A wolf attacked me from behind. It tore me up pretty well before I pulled a dagger on it and killed it. Most of my wounds healed except for these. I think they were the deepest. Fennar and Lerel wouldn't let me out of their sight for a year after that," Athelanna smiled. "So, are you going to kiss me or are my ears going to turn blue?"

Solas laughed and leaned in, closing the inches between them to kiss her.

_Finally, _Athelanna thought.

The kisses were tentative at first. Gentle, even. Then Solas slipped in a little tongue. Athelanna pushed herself up against the apostate. Her hands slipped underneath his tunic, hungrily feeling his smooth skin. Suddenly, it stopped. Solas pulled away, his eyes searching her face as if looking for answers. For a moment, he looked as conflicted as he did before he got into the pool. "Is it the fact we're making out in front of Andruil?" Athelanna quipped, hoping to break the tension.

"Let's get out of the pool," Solas scooped the Dalish out of the pool and carried her out. Athelanna squeaked and covered herself up with her hands. He set the Dalish on the edge of the pool and climbed out. "Suddenly shy?" the apostate asked as he pulled his soaking wet tunic over his head. His charm hung at his chest, droplets of water dripping down his skin.

Athelanna was too busy staring to formulate a witty reply. She had never seen him out of his tunic. She prayed to the Maker, Andraste, or any of the elven pantheons that he would decide to take off more, _do more_. Solas smirked, confident, and climbed on top of her. The indecision was gone from his face. There was an absolute determinism, a _hunger_ that had whisked the vacillation away.

His mouth found hers while his hands explored her body. She wrapped her legs around his waist to keep him close. Athelanna was lost in the feeling of his mouth as he placed kisses on her mouth, her ears, her chin, her neck, breasts, stomach… Athelanna couldn't hold back a moan. Before ten seconds ago, Athelanna wasn't sure that Solas knew anything about the female anatomy – she just assumed he was too wrapped up with befriending spirits and exploring the Fade to care. It was nice – _very nice – _to know Solas did not have to be taught.

She could still taste it when he came back up to kiss her. Athelanna's head was swimming. "Are you okay, Vhenan?" his voice brought her back. Her fingers lessened on the back of his head. The Dalish nodded meekly. "Don't stop. Please."

Solas kissed her again. "_Ma nuvenin_."

The apostate stood and pried the wet leggings off. Athelanna propped herself up on her elbows to admire how the moonlight accentuated his lithe, gently muscled frame. He was so handsome, stripped naked in the moonlight. As his chest pressed up against hers, Athelanna hugged him close. She kissed his jaw and whispered endearments into his ear as he slipped a finger, then two, inside of her. Desperate, needy moans of pleasure rippled from her throat. He slid inside her, her body tight and aching for him. His breath was hot against her goose-prickled skin, his lips forming coherent elven and incoherent moans of satisfaction.

Athelanna's head was still swimming even after Solas had stopped moving. His seed, hot against the cool night air, spread down her thighs. She listened to his heaving breath and felt his chest heave against her breasts. She let him catch his breath – Maker knows she needed to catch hers – and looked passed his ears to the stars. Minutes passed before Solas pulled out of her to lie against her side. His hand reached out and guided her face to his. He kissed her softly. Words were threatening to bubble from her throat – "_emma lath_". She wanted to confess to him the love she felt stirring in her heart… but she didn't have the courage. Athelanna rolled over him, kissed his lips, and proceeded to stand up. The Dalish was walking a little sideways as she retrieved her armor from the bushes.

"No… come back and lie down with me," Solas murmured.

Athelanna giggled. "You're going to freeze your goods off without clothes!"

"Not if we hold each other very tight," Solas rebutted. He propped himself up on his elbows. "We could lie here for a little longer. I'll put up my wards," the apostate assured her.

The apostate got up and searched through the pack he had dropped. He spread out food for the spiders (as he had promised). He straightened his back, giving Athelanna full view of his supple backside, and waved his hands in that familiar way, creating a barrier that mimicked the moonlight on the pond. While he performed his tasks, Athelanna laid out his wet clothing on the manicured topiaries. Solas produced a thin blanket from his pack. "Always prepared, aren't you? What else do you have in there? A bunny rabbit?" Athelanna asked with a smirk.

Solas guided her to the mossy ground, the blanket draping over the both of them. He pulled her into his arms. "Tell me more about the Fade," she whispered. Athelanna buried her head in the crook of his neck. Solas smelled like old memories and paint. She breathed deeply.

He continued to murmur stories into her ear even after she fell asleep. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Her skin on his. His lips on her throat. His hand slid up her inner thigh, her body arcing in reply. Soft, nearly inaudible words from a language far gone dancing in her ear…

"Inquisitor? Inquisitor Lavellan?"

In an instant, the lightning bugs dissipated. The pond faded away into memory. Hungry gray eyes that were seared into her mind were replaced by three sets, all looking at her with concern splayed across their faces. The blond Commander, with the creases in his forehead from always looking concerned; the exotic Ambassador who always looked benign and respectful; the Spymaster kissed by fire who had mastered the art of the carefully crafted mask. All, despite their differences, looked at her as if she had an unsightly rash on her face instead of the _vallaslin. _Josephine broke the silence. "On the matter of the Tevinter-Nevarra situation, what say you?"

Colorless eyebrows furrowed as she tried to think back on the matter at hand. _Tevinter. Nevarra… Tevinter… Venatori? _"I say we ally with Tevinter on clearing out the Venatori. Tevinter is clearly the superior power," she shuffled her reports, "and Nevarra is a fading power. It is a clear choice."

Josephine nodded her head in her courteous fashion. She wrote a few notes on her clipboard. "Duly noted. Do we have any other matters to attend to?"

"Indeed. May I request that a window be opened?" Athelanna fanned her face with the reports on the Tevinter-Nevarra issue. She understood they were in the mountains, surrounded by snow-capped cliffs and giant creatures wrapped in the thickest of furs... but she was melting. What she needed was the cold to help organize her thoughts away from last night. As of right now her thoughts were anywhere but the war room.

The rest of the meeting went without incident. With her back to the ornate windows, Athelanna's thoughts stayed within the room. She thought of tactics, armies, and royalties. One report nearly dissolved all of her careful concentration– a paper written in a familiar elegant script detailing the status of fade rifts throughout Thedas. Solas' work - between learning more of Corypheus and painting the fresco in the rotunda - was also deeply involved in fade rifts and their control. He had uncovered more locations of those elven artifacts assisting in strengthening the Veil to prevent more tears. Athelanna spent an a little extra time imagining the hand that wrote the report.

"If there are no other matters to attend to, I hereby adjourn this meeting." Josephine concluded after the final remark was made. She and Cullen gathered their reports. An Inquisition soldier met the Commander at the door. Leliana seemed to be dwindling longer than she usually did. Athelanna packed up her reports – a hearty stack of alliances and correspondence with royalty throughout southern Thedas – and left the war room.

"Inquisitor. If you have a moment," Leliana's voice sneaked in from behind her. Athelanna raised both brows and turned to meet the spymaster.

"Are you well? You seemed… distracted. Perhaps a bit flush. Have you been sleeping well?" Leliana had that look on her again. Athelanna wasn't accustomed to the spymaster appearing sympathetic, even concerned about Athelanna's personal affairs. She never would have thought Leliana a mother hen.

"N-No. I was just up late reading repots," she replied. She wanted to dismiss it, to be done with Leliana's faux concern. "If that will be all, I really need to go get started on these reports."

Leliana bowed her head. "Of course, Lady Lavellan. Have a good evening."

Athelanna chewed on the inside of her cheek. She knew that Leliana knew what she was _actually _doing. Her agents couldn't sneak inside the Fade, but Leliana _knew._ The Spymaster, without a doubt, tracked her movements, her sleeping pattern, her eating habits, and much more. Leliana probably had detailed lists of Athelanna's preference to the harder Dalish cheeses compared to soft cheese from the capital or how she preferred a rich Antivan port to a glass of red.

At one time, being a bard appealed to Athelanna's sense of romance and excitement. If being a bard consisted of creating lists of the nobility's favorite foods, Athelanna would much prefer to go back to her clan and hunt halla. She missed Fennar and Lerel, her parents, and her keeper. Her life with her clan was obliterated the moment Corypheus blew up the temple.

The Dalish elf walked passed Josephine and her assistant bent over a missive. She opened the heavy wooden door leading to the main hall when she nearly collided with Dorian and Varric. The faint hint of whiskey touched her nose. "Your Inquisitorialness!" Varric grinned as he reached to pat her on the shoulder. "Care to join us for a drink?"

Athelanna bit back a laugh. It was not quite dinnertime and yet her favorite Tevinter and her favorite dwarf were just a drink away from being sloshed. "You know, I'd love to, but I really have a mountain of paperwork to get through." Athelanna lifted her papers a little higher as evidence. "Maybe I'll stop by for dinner. Maker knows you two fools need a little food in your bellies."

"Nope, that's not good enough," Dorian eased the papers from her grasp. Varric opened the second door to the main hall and out the Tevinter went. Dorian found a messenger and dumped the papers into his unsuspecting arms. "Be a good lad and drop these off in the Inquisitor's chambers right away."

Varric raised a flask that he must have pulled from one of his pockets. "Here, here! Let's go Sparkler. Make sure our illustrious leader can't run away to _work_." Athelanna saw the face the dwarf made when he uttered that horrible word. Varric placed a hand on her back and steered the Dalish out of the hall.

Dorian marched on her right hand side, Varric on her left. Both of her companions remained very close, leaving no possible room for escape. She watched as a messenger went into the rotunda. As the door closed, Athelanna saw Solas standing at his desk, bent over a thick volume. The moment was fleeting, but it made her heart thump. The dwarf and the human promptly whisked her out of the Great Hall and away from her apostate. Her escorts were laughing and joking, but Athelanna wasn't in the mood for their lewd jokes or their crass remarks – something she normally enjoyed.

Skyhold's tavern was already beginning to fill up. A chill had settled over the castle and the fireplace was roaring hot. The smell of spices was heavy in the air. Maryden was singing an upbeat tune that had feet tapping and mulled wine flowing. The Iron Bull was sitting at one of the larger tables. Sera was standing at the bar, laughing with that lackadaisical manner she always had. "Barkeep! We need a round of the best Antivan port you have!" Varric called out. He guided Athelanna to a chair next to Bull – presumably for the Qunari's long wingspan. Bull would be able to keep her in her seat until the rest of them decided she could leave.

"How's it going Boss?" Bull said with a grin. One of his massive hands was wrapped around an equally large mug. Athelanna's stomach roiled. She turned her face away; just enough where she couldn't smell whatever concoction was in his mug. "Ah. Sorry," Bull pushed the mug farther away from the Inquisitor. Athelanna was glad that Bull remembered that night after slaying their first dragon, where he got her so drunk she couldn't tell up from down. Bull sent for a couple of Inquisition soldiers carry her back to her quarters. Athelanna would have preferred taking down a High Dragon solo than nursing the worst hangover of her life.

Dorian set a mug of port in front of her. The intoxicating aroma was enough to override the horrible smell from Bull's mug. Sera came sauntering over and plopped down next to her fellow rogue. "Well hello your gracious lady bits…" Sera took a swig of whatever was in her mug. Athelanna made a rude gesture – she wasn't fond of that nickname.

"How about we play a game? Wicked Grace? Diamondback?" Dorian prompted.

"Wicked Grace," the Iron Bull declared. "I want to kick the dwarf's ass this time. I lost twenty royals last time we played with Cullen and Josephine." The hulking Qunari leaned over the table. His one good eye glared at the dwarf across the table.

Varric leaned forward in challenge, a drunken grin plastered over his face. "You're on Tiny. You know, for a Qunari spy you're really bad at this game."

"Ladies! Ladies! Let's play nice, yeah? Shite." Sera got up to fetch a deck of cards from the barkeep.

Athelanna swallowed a mouthful of the port and looked around the table at her companions. They were the ragtag half of her group – a Qunari spy, a mage from the evil country of Tevinter, a famous dwarven novelist, and a city elf who liked to make wine out of nobles. Invariably, they were the most fun out of her group. Blackwall could be fun when he had a mind, Cassandra was always scowling and beating things, and Athelanna preferred to leave Vivienne to her ambitions. Solas, normally a somber and polite man, had proven to be fun in ways the rest did not know. Well, maybe Dorian.

"Place your bets, losers! Anything under a silver and you buy drinks!" Sera dropped the cards in the center of the table along with a pair of silver coins.

"The cards haven't even been dealt yet! Our Sera is quite confident or a touch daft," Dorian began to shuffle the cards and deal them out.

"Isn't it possible she's a little of both?" Varric chuckled and nearly got a face full of ale when Sera smacked the back of his head.

Athelanna snorted into her port while Varric wiped the ale from his face. "Now, now children. Let's play nice or I'll send you back to your rooms with no supper," the Inquisitor scolded as she shook her finger at the pair. She took the cards the mage slid her way and examined her hand. A pair of wandering eyes came her way. Athelanna kicked Sera in the shins. "Watch your own cards or you'll get an arrow in your eye."

"Oooh, big scary Inquisitor punching down on the little people," Sera sneered. She pulled her chair closer to Varric's. Maybe in Varric's state she could try and peak at his cards. Athelanna bit back a smirk when she saw Varric pull his cards closer to the forest on his uncovered chest.

"Place your bets! I'll see to Sera's two silvers with a Royal," Athelanna declared as she tossed the coin into the center of the table. A round of sarcastic "ooohs" erupted around the table. She smirked and hunkered down over her cards. The coins began to flow, the drinks pouring, her companions' tongues loosening. Athelanna spent more coin on buying drinks than actual bets.

Athelanna's luck, as per usual, was lackluster. Several hours later, each companion had at least three empty mugs next to their person. Next to her empty mugs, Sera had several empty plates and bowls to add to her mess. Nothing made Athelanna question her vision more than to watch Sera put down an entire roast duck and the trimmings to go with it. She held several measly royals close to her body, her gray eyes enviously staring at the healthy pile Bull had behind his massive hands. The Qunari slammed the table with his fist. "Another round of drinks!" he called.

"I'll go get them," the Dalish shouted over the din. She got up from the table, using the back of her chair to keep her from tumbling into Sera's lap. With her few royals in her hands, Athelanna staggered up to the bar. A wave of laughter came from her table. A blast of outside chill made everyone turn their heads to the door. "Ruffles! Hero! Come! Join the party. Three royal minimum, we also accept ale," Varric gestured the pair over. To her surprise, Solas ducked in after them. Athelanna watched Varric mouth 'Chuckles!'

A small smile played at the corners of his lips as the apostate's gaze found her. He strolled over to the bar. "A glass of red, please," Solas pushed a few coins to the barkeep. "And a… port? Antivan, right?" the apostate looked to Athelanna. She nodded meekly, not fully trusting her mouth to utter coherent words. A few more coins were slid across the bar in exchange for a fresh mug of port and a glass for Solas' wine.

Athelanna cradled the spiced drink in her cold hands. "Thank you. Not to sound rude, but what are you doing here? I d-didn't think you liked dealing with the drunks," she sipped at her mug to give her mouth something to do rather than sloshing her speech.

"I was chatting with Josephine when Warden Blackwall invited her along to play Wicked Grace. The Ambassador graciously invited me along," Solas said, his mouth still curled in that smirk. Athelanna found a chair at the bar. "I occasionally enjoy a hand of Wicked Grace now and then.

"It was also rumored that the Inquisitor would be here. I heard word from last time you went out drinking and I thought I should stop by to see the legend for myself," Solas sipped at his wine. Athelanna gulped air. It was suddenly too hot in the tavern. _He knows. He thinks I'm a drunk… but I am? No, he can't possibly know that. I'm going to find the soldiers who carried me to my room and make them carry me around the walls as punishment. Damn Solas and his smirk. I don't know if I want to punch him with my fist or my mouth. _Athelanna forced the smile, calling on the port to meet her halfway in the confidence department.

"I can't believe the rumor of our exploits is even reaching _you. _We must truly throw legendary gatherings to attract your attention, Master Solas," Athelanna said as she pulled her white-blonde braid behind her pointed ear.

Solas chuckled. He opened his mouth to retort when Dorian shouted over the crowd. "Are you in or out, your Inqui… Inquisitoria… elf? Lady Elf!" the mage raised his mug in the air, the ale slopping down the sides. Even in his state, Dorian had managed to crawl into Bull's expansive lap, all the while sloshing ale down his front.

Athelanna snickered behind a white hand. "Do you want to get out of here?" Solas asked, his voice barely above over the noise. The Dalish glanced from the table back to Solas. There were crinkles at the corners of his eyes, the way he always looked when he was amused. She set her mug back on the bar and raised her hand to take. Just because she was toeing the line between buzzed and drunk didn't mean she couldn't act a proper lady.

What was left of his glass of red was left at the bar as Solas took Athelanna's proffered hand. He helped her out of the barstool and didn't let go of her hand as they walked to the door. "Wh-Where are you going? Are you giving up that easily?" Sera turned around in her chair, her hands gripping tightly on the back to keep her from falling off.

"There are a couple of cups on the bar. You can barter with them," Athelanna smirked as Sera's drunken features lit up. She _did_ fall out of her chair trying to race herself to claim their abandoned drinks.

The pair of elves stepped out into the chill. Athelanna leaned into the apostate's side, the wool from his coat scratching at her face. When Varric and Dorian had escorted her from the castle, they had forgotten about her coat. The tavern door closed with finality behind them, muffling the sounds of clinking glasses and shouts of victory.

"Are you growing accustomed to the cold, Da'len? You don't have a coat," Solas tightened his fingers around hers to stave off the cold.

Athelanna wriggled out of his grip and skipped ahead of him. Her arms were spread out wide as she danced around in the circle. "Are you kidding? I love the cold. It is the wind in my sail, the arrow to my bow!" The cold was biting at her through the thin Dalish clothes.

Solas kept ambling behind her, watching her dance in the light of the torches. He pulled the woolen coat from his shoulders as he followed. Athelanna stopped mid-twirl, breathless; her pale cheeks flush from the cold. She didn't make any effort to stop Solas from placing his coat on her shoulders. "The Free Marches are much warmer than Skyhold, are they not?"

Was it the alcohol or was it him that made her dizzy? Athelanna pulled the coat tightly around her body, its warmth enveloping her. "Come. Shall we walk the ramparts?" Solas put his arm around her waist. The chill couldn't pierce Solas' coat, nor could she feel the apostate's lithe body through the fabric. She pressed into his side a little harder, even rolling the sleeves twice so she could get a hand on his waist. Freezing her fingers off was just the risk she would have to take.

Mists began to press upon the castle walls. Lanterns seemed to float in midair until Inquisition soldiers and messengers broke through the gray wall. With nightfall quickly approaching, the elves could have been the only two creatures in the world.

Solas ran his fingers over the damp walls of the castle to keep their bearing. The steps were slick from the mists. He led her down a piece of the castle wall (she assumed they were on the south part of the castle). None of the lamps had been lit. Finally, Solas' feet came to a halt. Athelanna broke the silence. "Which is worse: this fog or physically being in the Fade?" she quipped. She at least elicited a chuckle from him.

"The Fade. I can handle a fear demon and some spiders. If I fall off the ramparts… well, I can't fly. Can you?" Solas grinned.

"Sorry. I haven't picked that skill up yet. I'll ask my teacher. In the meantime, let's be careful, yeah? I'm not willing to pick your body parts off the ground," Athelanna pulled away from the apostate. The fog was thicker on the ramparts – she could hardly see passed her outstretched hand. "Unless… You're not going to push me off the ramparts and take control of the Inquisition for yourself, are you?" she teased.

"Now that you mention it…"

Athelanna gasped in feigned shock. "I knew it! You charm your way into my pants then you throw me over the ramparts. You conniving little bastard," Athelanna covered her mouth with the sleeve from Solas' coat. Only a soft outline of Solas could be seen from her vantage point, but his laugh bounced in the fog and amplified it.

The apostate appeared through the fog. "You're going to fall over the ramparts if you don't be careful." His features sharpened as he approached her. "You seemed to be having a good time at the tavern. Are you sure you want to be out here with a conniving bastard like me?" Solas teased as he pulled the Dalish to (what appeared to be) the center of the rampart.

"I accept the risks. Besides, I'm less likely to get shivved by Sera here than back in the tavern," Athelanna stood inches from him, her arms wrapped around her front to keep the chill out.

"Oh? What exactly are the risks of being up here with me?"

"Hm… well, for one, I might actually learn something. That's pretty dangerous. Not to mention I already uncovered your plot to murder me. I'm growing more sober by the minute… shall I list off more?" Athelanna closed the distance between them, a goofy smile spread at her rosy lips. "However… There is _one_ good thing about being up here with you, however."

"What would that be?" He was playing along - toying with her.

"I'm perfectly willing to make out with you," Athelanna grinned. The port made her brave.

Solas smirked, clearly suppressing a laugh. "You're drunk, Vhenan," was all he said.

"What does that matter? Are you scared to make out with me?" she countered.

"That's not what I said."

"Okay. So why did you bring me onto an empty rampart and away from the fire? We could have discussed your report in the second level of the tavern, not up here. I'm sure I will find your reason _fascinating_!" Athelanna placed her weight on a leg and crossed her arms over her chest. She probably looked ridiculous wearing his coat – something akin to Dagna wearing one of Bull's coats.

Solas was quiet for a minute. "Speechless? Ha! I knew -" Athelanna was silenced by Solas' lips on her own.

The kiss was hesitant at first, unsure. Then his resolve steeled and it deepened. His talented tongue begged entrance and she granted entry. Solas broke the kiss and touched her forehead with his. Light eyes were searching her face. "That is what I wanted," he murmured.

Would there ever be a time where she wasn't breathless? They've had kisses before – sometimes stolen little ones, sometimes these grand kisses that made her feel like the heroine in an ancient love story – but they all stole her breath. "I'm glad you decided against throwing me off the ramparts," she whispered.

Solas chuckled. "Vhenan?"

"Yes?" Athelanna looked up to meet his eyes. She savored the laughter dancing in his eyes.

He kissed her again. This time it was one of those little kisses – soft, tender, full of innocence. "I would never throw you off the ramparts. I'd be the first suspect and I'm afraid of what Cassandra would do to me."

It was Athelanna's turn to laugh. She pressed against his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist, giggling uncontrollably. Somewhere in the castle walls, someone was playing the violin. "Dance with me?" she murmured into his chest. The music was jaunty and upbeat. Still, her feet moved slowly as if to a much slower beat.

Solas slid his arms inside of the coat and moved his feet to a slow melody that only they could hear.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Solas was angry with himself.

He sat, cross-legged, on the platform propped against the rounded walls. With his anger boiling in his stomach, the apostate mixed paint colors for his fresco. The scene he was working on – Halamshiral – was taking much of his time. Between traveling through Fereldan and Orlais, researching the Fade, and his dreams, Solas' fresco was taking a backseat. The Inquisitor needed the fresco for posterity. It was his duty to tell future generations what her accomplishments were. She had handled feats that were spectacular. She shaped history with her decisions. Solas wanted to paint her accurately.

With careful brushstrokes, Solas painted her outline. A few hours before, the elf had sat for him as he sketched her likeness on a piece of parchment. She had squirmed under his gaze – sitting still was not one of her strong points. Like a parent to a child, Solas had to ask her to remain calm and try to keep her jokes to a minimum. Eventually, a messenger came into the rotunda and whiskered her away on important business. The Commander needed her for a pressing matter. Solas assumed then Ambassador would pick her brain, followed by the Spymaster informing her on the status of an operation. He would be fool to think Athelanna would have the time to sit for hours. He would be a greater fool to think she _could_.

Athelanna was the subject of his anger. It was not direct, but it involved her. She kept sucking him in with her wit, her passion, and her hunger for knowledge. For her to be beautiful was just a pleasant side benefit. The child of the stone had made an off-handed comment on how she looked half a ghost and that was probably why Solas liked to spend time with her. Yes, Varric enjoyed cracking jokes about Solas' preference for the company of spirits - Blackwall and Sera too. Solas mixed a little more white into his black, then a tiny drop of yellow, in attempt to achieve the color of her hair. She _did_ look half a spirit with her opalescent skin and her white-blonde hair. The only sources of color on her entire body were those rosy lips and the forest green of her _vallaslin_ that covered her forehead and just below her gray eyes. He had seen her _vallaslin _on elven slaves in the Fade – a leafless tree with wide, arching boughs. The roots of the tree curved below her eyes. Under other circumstances, the markings might have been beautiful.

She constantly surprised him. Not many in this day in age were willing to look upon the past with as much fondness as she. Athelanna was an old soul. He found much comfort in her deference to the past, to the better days that were lost by the _shemlen_.

Perhaps that was why he couldn't end his relationship with her. Solas was scared. He had walked the earth and the Fade for many years without someone to walk beside him. In a blink of an eye, she had come into his life, bearing the mark that would invariably change the world. He had found so much in her that he had been searching for. Now that she was here, alive, very much real, he was brutally aware that he could not keep her. It was selfish to try and hold on to her for their brief time… but Solas had not the courage to let her go.

There were several suitable partners in Skyhold for her. The Commander – Cullen – seemed an honest man. Josephine was a lovely woman with a bright mind. He would have thought Dorian would be acceptable until he learned of Dorian's preferences. At one time he would have thought she and Blackwall would have paired well together until he learned of Blackwall's deceit. He no longer respected the man and chose to ignore him completely. Somehow, Athelanna forgave Blackwall of his deceit. Solas did not possess her forgiving nature.

At least the Commander and the Ambassador could provide an actual life for her. Solas set his paintbrush into a bucket of warm water and watched the colors fade into the water. He was struggling on achieving the perfect shade for her hair. Instead, he picked up a clean brush and worked on his outlines.

He painted the bold red of the uniform that she, as well as her advisors and he, Dorian, and Cassandra wore. It was a color of strength and power – a wise choice on Josephine's part. However, the bold color contrasted with her delicate skin and washed out her features. He adopted a less vibrant red and continued with his work.

Solas worked without interruptions for several hours. He only paused to wash his brushes and stretch his legs. Just as he picked up a clean brush, the door from the hall swung open. Curious, the elf peered over the platform. It was Dorian. Solas sometimes preferred the mage's company, as Dorian was quite knowledgeable on the intricacies of magic and its uses. He also found his knowledge on necromancy to be quite enlightening. Still, Solas did not take well to the Tevinter's excessive pride. "Ah, I was hoping you would be here. Care for a break? I was informed by a very lovely Inquisitor that you have a soft spot for these little cakes…" Dorian pulled a plate of those little cakes from behind his back. Solas eyed the cakes before turning back to his fresco.

"I'm quite behind on my work. You can stop by some other time, if you'd like. Perhaps on our journey to the Emerald Graves tomorrow," Solas went back to his fresco. He needed to finish the Inquisitor's likeness before they left or he would never finish.

"No, I don't think that is possible. Well then, I shall come up to you then. This shouldn't take long, my good man," Dorian proceeded to climb the ladder while holding the tray of cakes. Eventually Dorian made it to the top, breathing a little harder than before. "Take a break. Enjoy the cakes, courtesy of the Ambassador." Dorian pushed the plate closer to him, taunting him with the sweet aromas.

Solas set the brush down and wiped his hand with a wet rag. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Ser Pavus?" He was always wary when Dorian decided to turn his mustache in Solas' direction. He was aware of Dorian and Athelanna's friendship, but Solas did not often exchange pleasantries with Dorian in Skyhold.

Dorian crossed his legs and pushed the plate a little closer to Solas. "I wanted to discuss a particular elf. An elf I'm aware we both have varying levels of fondness for… and I'm not talking about Sera," Dorian twisted at his mustache.

Solas sighed. This meeting was an effective waste of his time. He ignored the cakes, instead focusing his attention on mixing paints on his palette. "Look, I understand you don't like talking about your personal life. Honestly, I would much rather be in a room with my mother than talk about private feelings with you." Dorian took one of the tiny cakes. Solas didn't take Dorian for a stress eater. From stories he heard from Athelanna, Dorian turned to the bottle when faced with stress.

With Solas not taking the cakes nor providing any conversation, Dorian pressed on. "I just want to make sure you're not going to hurt her, Solas. I'm very fond of our Inquisitor. Being a Tevinter pariah earns me very few friends, and she is a very good one - perhaps my only friend. Did you know, for my birthday… ah, there I go again. Let me just get this over with. It will be more painless for the both of us. What I'm trying to ask are your intentions after Athelanna."

Solas continued mixing paint for his fresco. He raised the brush to the rounded wall, filling in the color of the Inquisitor's sash. He thought of a few responses in his mind, but none rang particularly well. What should he say when he didn't know his exact intentions in mind? Solas continued to paint while he developed some plausible answer. Dorian had already eaten three of the little cakes. Finally, Solas set down his brush and took one of the little cakes in his hand. "I care for her deeply. Our futures are uncertain, but I will never willingly hurt her." Solas met Dorian's dark eyes.

"See, that wasn't so hard now, was it?" Dorian cracked a smile. He leaned forward and patted Solas on the shoulder. "But if you do hurt her… I can find use for you even after you're dead, my dear Solas." Dorian winked, his smile suddenly malicious.

"Enjoy the cakes!" Dorian proceeded to climb down the ladder. He was whistling a tune as he climbed the stairs to his library.

Solas set his half-eaten cake back on the plate. What little appetite he had had quickly diminished. Solas picked his paintbrush back up and tried to challenge his energy into the sash.

Soldiers and messengers came and went through the rotunda. His attention was zeroed in on the fresco. He was making excellent headway on the uniform. Cole had stopped by to sit with him, keeping Solas company as he painted. The spirit asked questions – the masks had been quite taxing on him. Solas patiently answered all of Cole's questions all while painting. Cole did not seem to mind that his attention was trained elsewhere as long as his questions were answered. Eventually, Cole went off to see Varric, leaving him alone in the rotunda.

"You haven't eaten a bite all day, have you?" a voice came from the bottom rung of the ladder. Solas wasn't paying attention and uttered a noncommittal grunt. He continued painting. He was almost done with her uniform. Being so close to being done, Solas could not bear to look away for even a minute. The legs would finish off her regal pose, cementing her in history as a wise, benevolent leader. For the rest of history, this likeness would be how she would be known.

"Oh, nevermind, I see you have taken a tiny bite out of an equally tiny cake. I'm glad to see you're so well nourished," Athelanna crawled onto the platform. Solas glanced at his side. For just a brief moment he watched her remove plates, a pair of glasses, and a bottle of wine from a basket. He turned his gaze back to the fresco. "How about you take a break and eat something other than cake. You've been working all day on me. Why, you've got the real thing right in front of you. At least enjoy the flesh-and-blood Athelanna." Athelanna unwrapped the plates.

Solas managed a smile. "What have you brought?" he inquired. He rinsed his paintbrush in his bucket. The water had since grown cold.

She reached out to him to wipe his forehead with a napkin. "You've got paint all over you," Athelanna smiled. Her smile effectively widened his.

"This is hardly a romantic location for a date," Solas said, nodding his head towards the plates of seasoned fish – no doubt caught by the Inquisitor in the cold mountain streams. It looked to be something her clan might have eaten. Athelanna must have cozied up to the sole elven cook in the kitchens to make them dinner. Not many of Skyhold's workers would deny Athelanna her whims, but even during the dinner rush some of the cooks would tell her to wait. He wondered what she promised the cook in exchange for a special meal.

"Any place is romantic with my sparkling wit and charm," she retorted. A sharp laugh left Solas' throat, causing the Inquisitor to look at him with a touch of feigned hurt. "Perhaps I'll just take my dinner and go elsewhere. I bet the Commander is hungry."

"No, no. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings Vhenan. Thank you for bringing me a meal but I really need to work on this scene," Solas reached forward and put his hand on one of the plates before she could pack them up. A corner of his mouth curled up as their eyes met. She let go of the plate, letting Solas claim it.

Athelanna looked at him with a mixture of disappointment and amusement. "I suppose that's okay. I'll leave your plate here and a glass of wine. Stop by my quarters tonight, will you? I have a couple of questions for you. We also need to go over our itinerary for the Emerald Graves," Athelanna poured a glass of red for him, and then held out the bottle for him to magically re-seal the cork. She packed her half of the meal into the basket.

Solas nodded in confirmation. His attention was pulled back towards his paints. He was just about to put brush to wall when he felt her lips on his cheek. Her voice was very close to his ear. "See you tonight." Solas turned to look at her, eyes wide in surprise. A mischievous grin was at her mouth as the Dalish departed down the ladder. _And with that, she tightens her grip on my weak heart._

Athelanna's face, grinning with triumph, was seared into his mind. He began to mix the paints to achieve that delicate balance of white and black that was her hair, her skin, even her eyes. Solas ate between brushstrokes, fueled by inspiration that only she could inspire.

It was nearly midnight by the time Solas finished her likeness. He stretched his long legs as he admired his work. Earlier in the day, Solas had not been sure if he was going to due the Inquisitor any credit. With his inspiration fresh in his mind, Solas had managed to create the look he wanted. She stood, confident and regal amongst Inquisition soldiers, Empress Celene, Briala, Gaspard, and the Duchess Florianne in the Winter Palace. He admired the highlights in her hair he had managed to perfect. Solas was brimming with pride at his work.

Solas cleaned up his brushes and palettes as well as the glass of wine and plate Athelanna had left behind. He dried his brushes, laying them in their box for safekeeping.

As he ventured out in the Main Hall, Solas came to terms on what time it actually was. The hall was empty save for a few soldiers – even the dwarf had gone off to bed. The torches burned low in their places. Solas went to the Inquisitor's door. She must have informed her guards, as they let him in without question. A few ravens squawked at his arrival. With quiet steps, the apostate approached her room. He knocked softly, waited, then opened the door was gently as he could.

To his surprise, the Inquisitor was still awake. Several candles burned on her desk as she pored over reports. "The Inquisitor's work is never done, I see," Solas said, announcing his entrance.

Tired eyes pulled away from her papers, grey irises brightening at his arrival. "Neither is her elven serving man's, apparently," she quipped. Solas couldn't help but smirk.

The apostate, with near silent steps, approached the back of her chair. She was wrapped in a thick robe – a soft lilac – to ward off the cold. The robe ended at her knees, revealing smooth, white skin in the candlelight. Solas was pleased to see he was able to match the correct shade on the fresco. She stood, motioning for him to sit. When he obliged, his Inquisitor quickly nestled into his lap. "I was told this was a business meeting," Solas protested. Despite his qualms, Solas wrapped his arms around her slender waist.

"This is _purely_ business, Solas. I always cuddle with those who I do business with. It's purely a Dalish trait, you could not hope to understand." Athelanna retrieved a stack of reports cordoned off to the far side of her desk.

She was always barbing him with her sharp tongue. _It may be physically impossible for her to take _anything _seriously._ Solas rested his chin against her arm while she held out the papers. "I wanted your opinion on something. Do you remember, a few months ago, when bandits were attacking my clan? Cullen gave me this information that my clan is at risk again. I thought we had handled it, but here they are, at risk again. All three of my advisors tell me they can handle it… but is it wrong of me to want to go there myself? I _know_ these bandits, I can help protect my clan. They all tell me it's folly, that I could get killed, that I can't just run off to be with them…" Athelanna sighed heavily, her back slumping into his chest.

Solas scanned the reports. "I would use Cullen's men. A great show of force, along with the supplies, will help save as many lives as possible. Perhaps get your clan out of the open and into a neighboring city with walls that are defensible. Any Arl willing to protect his city from the ire of the Inquisition will comply with your wishes," Solas set the papers down, his arms returning to her waist.

"But I should _be _there! I'm worried about Fennar and Lerel, my parents… my grandparents are nearly blind, they will be easy picking –" Solas squeezed her waist. "Vhenan, you must trust your forces. You alone cannot protect every member of your clan. Do you not have over fifty in your clan? Wouldn't two-hundred men protect much better than one very capable Inquisitor?"

Athelanna released a defeated sigh. "_Halam'shivanas."_ The sweet sacrifice of duty.

Solas kissed her neck. "Your men will keep your clan safe. Even your grandparents."

She turned to face him, an uneasy smile at her red lips. Solas was close enough to appreciate her exhaustion. "To bed with you. You will fall off of your mount if you don't get some sleep, Vhenan. It will be quite a sight, the Inquisitor napping in the mud while her horse continues on to the Emerald Graves," he teased. In a deft movement, Solas stood with the Inquisitor in his arms. She was light, even with the heavy robe draped about her.

"Mmm… unhand me, _ma fen._" Athelanna protested, even attempting to push herself out of his arms. Solas held onto her tightly and carried her to bed. He tossed her on, delighting in how the robe lifted just right as she fell. She glared at him, but her face held no actual repercussions.

_Interesting how she would call me wolf._ Solas went to retrieve her reports on the Emerald Graves. He handed her the reports and then pulled the thick quilts over her. A piece of skin glistened from a gap in her robe. "Are you not wearing any clothes, Vhenan?" Solas bit back a laugh.

Athelanna pulled the robe tighter on her person. She tossed him a sleepy, sly smile. "Are you asking because you're shocked or intrigued?" the Dalish took the reports that Solas handed to her.

"Perhaps a little more shocked than intrigued." Solas slid underneath the covers with her, leaving a few inches of space between the two.

Athelanna smirked at him. Her attention pulled away from him and to her reports instead. "It's going to take us six days to reach the Graves. Maker willing there won't be heavy snow in the Frostbacks. You might want to take a sturdier mount than your hart. The snow might snap his antlers clean off."

Solas nodded. "Of course. I hope you packed a coat or two." She smelled sweet, like flowers. The odor reminded him of Josephine and her fine Val Royeaux perfume. Flowers overwhelmed any and all natural scents. He enjoyed her aromas of fine leather and prairie grasses. Tempted, Solas slid a hand onto her outer thing. He let it rest there, testing the waters before he ventured further.

"Uh-huh. I'm bringing Dorian and Blackwall along. Bull pissed me off so I'm punishing him by separating him and Dorian." Athelanna was ignoring his hand on her thigh. That, or she was playing him like a fine fiddle.

"Perhaps the Seeker's skills would be better suited for the forest?" he offered. He loathed to spend the twelve days' traveling time and at least another week traveling the forest with the false warden.

Athelanna shrugged her shoulders. "I already told him he's coming, so you'll just have to make nice with him."

There was no room for rebuttal. Solas continued to slide his hand up her thigh. Dorian would make for decent company. Not to mention the Inquisitor… The apostate's hand eased between her legs. Light eyes glanced at her face. She gave no hint that she was paying attention to his hand. "We have arranged contact with a man named Fairbanks. He has information on Red Templars. Apparently they and another offshoot of Freeman have… what are you doing?"

Solas grinned wolfishly, but he didn't take his hand away. He was a finger's breadth away from the inside of her legs. A light eyebrow arched. She was expecting an answer from him. "Exactly what it looks like?"

Athelanna's eyes moved back to her reports. She parted her legs, just an inch. A subtle way of saying "I dare you_"_. Solas pushed his finger inside of her, fascinated by her ability to keep her face impassive. Another finger. Her face twitched. He watched her fingers tighten on the report in her hand. Solas moved his hand, just a little to entice her. A small peep bubbled from her lips.

"Andraste's tit! _Garas ma fen!_" A smirk twitched at his lips. He had won. In a quick movement, the reports were scattered off the bed and she was on top of him. The huntress' robes were loosened, the moonlight scattering off of what porcelain skin was available.

Athelanna had pinned him to the bed and Solas was merely appreciating her form. She was teasing him, testing the waters of his willingness to release control. He tried to hold down any voices of pleasure as she touched him with her rosy lips. Small, hot groans of appreciation pulled from his throat within several minutes of biting his cheek. The Dalish then mounted him, every lift of her hips slow and controlled. The robe had slipped from her shoulders, revealing the entirety of her lithe elven form. When he tried to touch her, to encourage her to go faster, she pinned his arms underneath her knees and continued to torture him in the most wonderful of ways.

Solas knew he was weak. Right there, with her over him, smiling at him, he realized he didn't care.

With a cry, she slumped against his chest, her breath hot and heady in his ear. He ran a hand down her smooth back, savoring the touch. His face burned against the night air. "You enjoyed every minute, didn't you Vhenan?" Solas broke the silence. With another hand, he brushed white-blonde hair from her face. The apostate smirked. _At least she broke a sweat._

"And you didn't?" she parried. Athelanna stretched her body next to his, her chest rising and falling heavily.

Solas touched her _vallaslin._ "Perhaps." That drew a reaction out of her.

"Perhaps? Dear Solas, you were beyond _perhaps_ the moment I climbed on top of you. You don't like it when you lose control, do you?" Athelanna kissed his defined jaw and nibbled at his lobe. Solas squirmed at the touch. She was delightfully maddening.

"Are you tired, Vhenan?" he whispered.

She looked him in the eye, an eyebrow arched. A moment passed. She shook her head, her braid shaking with her.

"Good." Solas rolled on top of her, pinning her arms to her sides. "My turn."

A gasp parted her lips. He delighted in the surprise in her eyes, the way her scar twisted when she dropped her jaw. "_Harellan," _she accused under her breath. A smirk played at his lips. _Trickster. Aptly put._

He lowered his head to meet hers. He was curious to know how well the Inquisitor handled losing control.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

An Inquisition scout knocked on her door to wake her before the dawn. Athelanna pulled the covers over her head, attempting to muffle the knocks. For a while, it seemed to work – the knockings stopped. Not five minutes later, the knocks came this time, louder this time. She squeezed her eyelids closed, praying to the Maker, Andraste, even to Sylaise to just make her alarm clock go away. The sounds stopped once more. She relaxed her lids and dozed off.

She was learning the hard way that inviting Solas to her room before departing was a wise idea.

Her elven apostate was a very giving lover. Solas had an appetite that nearly exhausted her – especially after the third time she was crooning his name. There was a ferocity, a wild animal underneath his polite mask that excited her. He was very much a wolf.

"Ah, our lovely Inquisitor is napping like an angel. She says, 'we must be awake and ready by dawn!' and she's _sleeping!_ No, Dorian, your eyes do not deceive you. No, you are not losing your mind from lack of sleep. This is real life, not some horrifying nightmare!"

Athelanna groaned and clutched at her blankets. "No, no, my dear Lady Elf. You must get up or I'm going to burn your blankets," Dorian threatened. He lit the candles and the chandelier with magic, flooding her quarters with an unwelcomed red glow.

"If you don't get up in five seconds…"

Athelanna screamed and pulled the covers off of head. "Dorian! I'm up!" she climbed out of bed, completely unfazed that she was very much naked.

"I didn't know you liked to sleep in the nude," Dorian said with a smirk. She chose not to hear the undertones in his voice, especially since _he knew_ she didn't often choose to sleep naked. Dorian had a quick wit paired with a filthy mind. He was goading her to spilling all of her dirty little secrets. There were some things that Dorian didn't need to be titillated with this early in the morning.

Athelanna, ignoring the Tevinter, went into the other room filled with freshly folded laundry. The other day, Josephine sent for her clothes to be washed and her armor to be shined until it could be used as a mirror.

She threw on warmer clothes of elven make – they were light and imbued with magic for extra warmth. As she was pulling her breastplate, Athelanna walked out of the small room to where Dorian was lounging at her desk. "Have you seen Solas?" she just realized the apostate wasn't lying next to her when she was so rudely woken up.

Dorian shrugged his shoulders. "He wasn't in the rotunda when I walked down. So no, I haven't seen the object of your affections." Dorian was absentmindedly thumbing through her many reports. He looked exhausted.

Athelanna rolled her eyes and went back to throwing her armor on. She pulled an extra coat over her shoulders. While she had waited for Solas last night, she had packed up armor, extra clothes, blankets, and other necessities. She threw her bow and quiver of arrows over her shoulder. Athelanna dragged her pack out into the main part of her quarters. "Let's go, since you apparently have a fire under your ass," Athelanna shouldered her pack.

"That sounds delightful. Very warm, too." Dorian took her by the arm and together, they departed into the Main Hall. Out in front of the gate, soldiers were readying their horses. Blackwall was adjusting his gray courser's straps a safe distance away from Solas. The apostate's back was to the warden – he was clearly giving Blackwall the cold shoulder. Athelanna sighed. _Maybe I should have brought Cassandra along._

A soldier relieved Athelanna of her pack to prepare her Dalish All-Bred. The mount was an excellent choice for both the mountain paths and the winding paths of the forest. Solas finished filling the saddlebags and came to meet her at the bottom of the steps. "_Lethallan. _I have something I want to show you before we depart." Solas was wearing a heavy coat and a cap that covered his ears.

"Do be quick, yes? I want to make this trip as quick as possible," Dorian let go of her arm and moved to join the soldiers and Blackwall.

Solas looked like had gotten a long night's sleep. She was envious of the sparkle in his eyes, the light step in his gait. Athelanna was sure she looked much worse for wear. Putting a little pressure on her elbow, Solas led her back up the grand steps and to the rotunda. "I finished you last night," he said as they walked inside.

Athelanna snorted. "I meant on the fresco, _ma Vhenan,_" Solas recovered smoothly. With a soft touch, he guided her chin to her likeness on the wall.

"What do you think?"

Athelanna smiled and stepped back to examine her form fully. "I think you idealize me a little too much." The Dalish craned her head to the side, appreciating his work from every angle. Then she went and climbed the ladder onto the platform to view herself up close. She looked like a leader of the Inquisition should – so self-assured, confident, and _beautiful. _"She's very beautiful. I see why you like her so much."

Solas was standing at the bottom of the ladder. "She is indeed. She also doesn't make as many wise cracks as you do," he teased from below. Athelanna came down from the platform. She gave him a peck on the nose. "It's wonderful. _Ma serannas, ma fen_." It brought her great pride to make him smile the way he did.

"We should probably get going. I think Dorian will have a heart attack if we dawdle too long." Athelanna took him by the hand and led him back out to the castle gates, where Dorian, Blackwall, and several mounted soldiers waited for them. "Good morning, Blackwall," she greeted warmly. If Solas was going to ignore her warrior, Athelanna was going to make sure he felt welcome.

Truth be told, she admired a part of Blackwall. He was not the warden he claimed to be, but in the end, he did try to repair the damage he had done. Blackwall was a stout man, a loyal servant of the Inquisition. There were several times he had saved from a possibly life-ending blow with a turn of his sword.

"Good morning, Lady Lavellan," Blackwall echoed. The corner of his eyes crinkled in his warm smile. "Well, shall we get going then? I'm interested to see the Emerald Graves for myself."

With that, Athelanna tapped her heels into her mount. Soldiers flanked their sides, an honor guard consisting of six men and women to protect them as far at Frostbacks.

By the end of the their first day's ride, Athelanna's legs were cramping and her head pounded. The first was from her lack of long riding; the latter was from her companions. _Well, companion._ Blackwall, Dorian, several of the Inquisition soldiers, and herself included shared stories and jests. Solas, on the other hand, was distant to everyone _except_ Blackwall. He would be speaking without issues to everyone, and the moment Blackwall attempted a comment or reply, Solas stopped speaking. The rest of the group would fall into silence until either Dorian or she piped up.

Athelanna had charged ahead with a soldier to scout out a decent place to camp for the night. They found an alcove in the side of a lesser mountain. It was tucked away behind tall sentinel trees and protected from view from the trail. She waited at the fore as the soldier went back to lead the party to her. Athelanna was unsaddled her All-Bred by the time the men joined her.

"How are your hunting skills, Blackwall?" Athelanna refused to look at the elf as she passed by to get to Blackwall. There was a pinching between her shoulders and if she didn't go relieve the pressure she might start something she regretted. Blackwall was dismounting from his courser.

"Quite well. You do remember I was alone in the woods for several years?" Blackwall was shaking his legs to regain feeling. It had been a few weeks since any of them had travelled far – by the end of the week their muscles would acclimate again.

"Let's go see what we can find. I have a hankering for fresh meat tonight," Athelanna pressed forward, expecting Blackwall to follow her. She preferred to stay on foot while she hunted. They would not have to go far to collect something.

Athelanna kept a brisk pace. The exercise would loosen the pinch between her shoulders, but she mostly wanted to separate herself from Solas right now. An easy silence fell over them, both of them on alert for any stirrings between the sentinel trees. "My Lady," Blackwall whispered. He was pointing behind a thick tree to a small clearing. Several rams were snuffling under a thin dusting of snow for something to eat. She gestured towards the right. Blackwall, with surprisingly light steps for a man in padded armor, shield and long sword, moved to the right to cut off any escape.

The Dalish crept around the trees, her bow drawn and ready. A ram lifted its head, staring out warily. She pressed up against a tree and waited until it lowered its head to eat. Athelanna waited until Blackwall was in position before she loosed an arrow at the largest of the rams. It was a clean shot – right in the throat. The other rams bolted up the mountainside. Athelanna stood there; admiring their dexterity while Blackwall made sure the ram was dead. "Excellent shot, My Lady," he praised as she approached the ram.

"Thank you," she grinned. She kneeled down, using a rope from her belt to truss the legs. Blackwall threw the ram over his shoulder.

"Listen, Blackwall… I just wanted to talk about how Solas has been treating you. I invited you along for your expertise in dealing with the Freeman as well as the hand-to-hand combat of the Red Templars. You are a valuable ally, but if you feel too uncomfortable with Solas in the party, I do understand. We are only a day out…" Athelanna walked alongside the hulking warrior.

"No. Thank you, My Lady, but I deserve everything Solas has said, or not said, to me," Blackwall shifted the ram on his shoulder.

Athelanna shook her head. "You've atoned for what you've done, Blackwall. Trust me, I will be speaking with him of this. I consider you my friend, and I will not have you slighted even if Solas and I are involved."

"I appreciate it, My Lady, but please do not overwork yourself. You have many burdens to shoulder without me," Blackwall smiled at her, his eyes crinkling above his dark beard. The two approached the camp. The tents were already put up and Dorian had already sparked a roaring fire in the middle of the camp.

"Victorious, I see! Excellent work, my friends," Dorian grinned, but he kept a distance between himself and the dead ram. Someday Athelanna would teach him how to hunt… if Dorian ever agreed to it. Dorian had been pampered for a good portion of his life. She did not fault him for it – he had just lived a different life than she. His hardships were much different than her own.

Blackwall set the ram down by the fire and Athelanna set to work on skinning it. "Must you do that here?" Dorian wrinkled his nose. Blackwall nudged him, a flask in his gloved hands. A look of delight spread across the mage's features. "I hope this isn't too forward, Ser Blackwall… but I love you." At least they got along with a little alcohol. After a few drinks, Blackwall did not seem to care as much about Dorian's peacocking and Dorian almost enjoyed Blackwall's stolid behavior.

Within an hour, Athelanna had skinned and cut the ram into steaks, ribs, and flanks. The soldiers insisted on cooking the ram – persistent, actually – so she happy obliged. She slid through the trees to reach a stream not too far away from camp. Blood had congealed on her skin. She stuck her hands in the stream, the cold biting at her hands and numbing them. "Vhenan."

Athelanna's shoulders stiffened. Under other circumstances, she would have delighted in a moment alone with him. She ignored him as she cleaned the blood off of her hands. "Vhenan? Is something the matter?" Solas kneeled next to her.

She scrubbed her fingers and underneath her fingernails. "You're ignoring Blackwall."

Solas raised an eyebrow. "That is why _you_ are ignoring me?"

Athelanna dried her hands on the outside of her coat. "Yes." She refused to meet his gaze.

"And?"

Athelanna scoffed. "If you don't understand what you did is wrong, I don't think I can hold a conversation with you right now." She pushed passed the apostate to return to the humans of her group.

She was well aware of how poorly she had handled that. Athelanna's confrontation skills were lacking without a bow secured in her hands. "What are you two drinking?" She seized the flask as Blackwall was passing it back to Dorian. A sniff followed by a tentative sip. Whiskey. Athelanna drank a mouthful and handed the flask to her mustachioed best friend.

"Trouble in paradise?" Dorian inquired. Athelanna waved a hand at him as she went to her mount.

Athelanna used the brush in her saddle pack to brush his black-and-white hair into shining perfection. She was able to listen and watch the two humans laugh and trade stories. Blackwall, with his lie exposed, was now able to tell stories on his time in the Orlesian army. Dorian was always enthralled to tell stories of the Tevinter Imperium. "And then I told the recruit he needs to tighten his knickers next time!" Blackwall ended. The two were howling at that point. Athelanna couldn't help but snicker into her horse's side.

Solas still had not come back to camp when the soldiers began dishing out the spits of fresh ram. One of the soldiers had an excellent hand with spices. The meat was spiced well and paired with some potatoes and a little butter. With whiskey to wash the meat down, it was a meal comparable to something they would have served on a Dalish holiday.

The moon had risen above the sentinel trees by the time Dorian and Blackwall decided to call it a night. One of the soldiers had drawn first watch. Athelanna stayed awake a little longer, hoping Solas would come back to camp. His meal sat by her feet, nearly frozen. She crossed her legs and her arms underneath her coat and watched the fire. She fiddled her thumbs. The soldier across from her, Henry, seemed equally uncomfortable. "How long have you been with the Inquisition?"

Henry cleared his throat. "A little after you joined, Inquisitor. A group joined from a village near Haven." Athelanna smiled and nodded. She wasn't sure what else to say.

There was movement in the brush behind her. The Inquisition soldier jumped to his feet, blade in hand. "It is only I. No need for alarm," Solas ducked under a branch. Henry bowed while uttering an apology.

Solas stood next to the Inquisitor. "Perhaps, Henry, you should walk the perimeter?" Solas offered. Henry looked to Solas, then back to Athelanna. He seemed unsure.

Athelanna nodded, giving the soldier permission to stretch his legs. Henry left the warmth of the fire. They were alone.

"Where were you?" Athelanna asked stiffly. "Your dinner is cold… frozen, actually." She nodded towards the bowl at her feet.

"I was thinking." Solas answered. He bent down to pick up his frozen dinner. Long, elegant fingers spread beneath the bowl, his hand emanating heat. It took a little under a minute for the broth to begin to boil. If she hadn't been upset with him, Athelanna might have been impressed.

The Inquisitor got to her feet. "As you're not dead, I'll be going to bed. Your tent is over _there."_ She pointed to the one furthest from hers, just to remind him that he wasn't welcome.

Athelanna stood there for a moment longer. She was being irrational. Upon her "confrontation" she had not given him a moment to explain. She really didn't tell him any time to explain himself, either. Her pride was in her throat. When Solas didn't speak up, Athelanna went to her tent and drew the flaps shut. She pulled the blanket over her and tried to close her eyes. A few minutes ticked by.

_Andraste preserve me. I'm a fool._

She opened the tent flap, just an inch. "_Ir abelas. _It's cold. Come inside? Before Henry comes back," she whispered to his back. Athelanna watched him through the gap in the tent. For a moment, he didn't acknowledge her. She was just about to retreat back inside when he stood from the fallen trunk. Athelanna untied the flap to let him through.

Athelanna crawled back onto her bedroll. Solas looked unsure on where he ought to lie. "_Ir abelas,"_ she repeated. "I'm angry because you were giving Blackwall the cold shoulder."

"I gathered that much." Solas sat in the corner of the tent.

"I just don't understand why you have to treat him that way."

"Because he lied in order to gain respect and honor. He ordered the murder of a man, woman, and their children. No honest man would ever consider such an atrocity." Solas' gaze steeled.

"Yes, he did something terrible. But he's repenting. He is sorry. I just don't know why you can't see that he's trying to make up for the horror he caused." Athelanna rolled into a ball underneath he coat. The cold was seeping through the tent.

Solas sighed. "That does not excuse his actions."

Athelanna made a disgusted noise. "Right. Since you have done nothing wrong in your entire life, nothing that warranted forgiveness."

Solas didn't have an answer for that. "I see."

"All's I'm saying is that you don't have to like what he did, but please don't treat him like the humans treat us. He treats you with respect and courtesy. Could you at least attempt the same?" Athelanna could see his brow furrow, even in the dark corner of her tent. "I don't like being mad at you, _ma fen,_ and it's too fucking cold to sleep without you. Now, if you don't get over here and warm me up, I'll… I'll… shit, it's too cold to threaten you."

She could feel him move underneath the covers. Like a worm in the earth, he dug underneath her coat. His hands slid beneath her clothes. His hands were still warm from heating his meal. "Do you know what I want?" Athelanna whispered under the quilts.

He smiled softly. "A herd of griffons?"

Athelanna ignored him despite the smile at her lips. "After all of this is over? We can go explore a warmer place, where you don't have to worry about freezing your goods off. It can be you and me. Maker knows we could use a little sun," Athelanna pressed against his chest, eagerly seeking the warmth radiating from him.

"You're going to be very busy after you defeat Corypheus. Every noble in Thedas will want an audience with the Dalish elf who slayed an ancient Tevinter magister." Solas slid his hand through her hair.

"I'm the Inquisitor. I can take time off if I want to." Athelanna retorted.

"Maybe you've been spending too much time dreaming, Vhenan. You're clearly not facing reality." Solas closed his eyes and settled in to the bedroll.

Athelanna rolled her eyes. She was ready for the times when the reports slowed to a halt and the nobles would stop begging for an audience. Someday they would be able to climb on their mounts and leave Skyhold for months. They would explore places of their people; discover new areas of the Fade to search in their dreams. She could take Solas to the Free Marches to introduce him to Fennar, Lerel, Hahren, Mamae and Papae. Someday her life would be hers to live again.

_Maybe we could start our own little clan someday. A couple of little baldies. _She snickered.

"Go to sleep, Vhenan." Solas opened an eye.

Athelanna sighed and forced her eyes closed. Right now, she should only focus on getting to the Emerald Graves instead of dreaming of a far-off future.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The Emerald Graves made her stomach do somersaults and her heart beat faster.

The forest stretched for hundreds upon thousands of miles. Strange birdcalls twittered above her head; animals she had never seen before scurried up trunks. She swung down from her All-Bred to guide the nervous creature around swollen tree trunks and thick vines. As sure-footed as her mount was, the roots of ancient trees were surely causing more trouble than the edges of rocky cliffs. "Is it just me or does this place… creepy?" Dorian was climbing down from his horse. The Tevinter did look a little uneasy.

"As the stories go, the trees were originally planted for each elf that pledged themselves as an Emerald Knight – a defender of the Dales. Once the Dales were conquered by the _shemlen_, the trees once planted in celebration now symbolize those who died in defense of their home," Solas was somber as he led his mount over the uneven grounds.

"Now that's a cheery thought," Dorian was carefully picking his steps. Next to him, Blackwall had his hand on his pommel. He looked half determined to start slicing through the underbrush in order to clear a path.

"There are not many elven tales that are cheerful, Ser Pavus," Solas answered.

Athelanna stared at the each tree that her group passed. "Is there any truth to the tales, Solas?" She was well aware that Dalish history was often misconstrued. Just spending a few hours with Solas in Haven had been enough to make her see. So much of the stories she grew up listening to had both an ounce of truth and two ounces of misinformation.

"It could be exaggerated as with any tale of _elvhen _origin. Perhaps it is a question best asked from the spirits in the Fade," Solas was looking around, his gray eyes bright with curiosity. She knew, behind his calm exterior, his mind was taking snapshots of the areas he would love to explore more once they set up camp for the night.

She saw Blackwall shudder from the corner of her eye. Athelanna hid her grin behind her mount. None of the warriors in their group particularly liked spirits – the Iron Bull was the worst, Blackwall next, then Cassandra. Blackwall severely disliked Dorian's necromancy. He often paled and stayed far away from the slain that Dorian arose the dead to fight on their behalf. The dead walking gave Athelanna the creeps, but she could appreciate having extra bodies swinging blades, conducting magic, or firing arrows that could keep enemies at bay. 

The four traveled in relative silence apart from Dorian's complaints. Athelanna liked listening to him complain – he was always so eloquent and imaginative as he cursed the location, the creatures below or above, or even her from bringing him along. She had a feeling Dorian _actually_ liked coming along, but he wasn't about to let them in on a little detail like that. So, despite both Solas and Blackwall's exasperation, Athelanna bantered with him to keep the mustachioed Tevinter talking. It was much more interesting than the wall of silence between the false Warden and her elven lover.

It was rough going, but up ahead she could finally see Inquisition scouts milling about camp. Several scouts were marching out to meet them. "Ser! Welcome to the Emerald Graves. Scout Harding awaits you at camp," several of the scouts relieved her party of their mounts. They advanced towards the camp, where smells of roasted meats drifted through the heavy forest air.

Scout Harding met them next to the fire. "Enjoying the forest, Inquisitor?"

Athelanna smirked. "Not as much as I would enjoy a porcelain bath tub with some lavender boiled in the water. You don't happen to have one of those around, do you?"

"I'm afraid not, Inquisitor. I do have some information on Fairbanks, however," Scout Harding countered. Always about business, she was. Athelanna stretched her arms over her head and cracked her neck. She then gestured for some benches cut from felled trees. She should at least be comfortable when Scout Harding delivered the bad news. The Freemen of the Dales were not new to her; she just hoped they weren't as fierce as the Freemen in the Exalted Plains.

The rest of her group took their belongings from the saddlebags to claim a tent for their own while Scout Harding gave Athelanna the lowdown. As she suspected, the Freemen were wreaking havoc on the local population as well as the forest. The Freemen appeared to be from the same group as those from the Exalted Plains.

-

If the Emerald Graves were not so fascinating, Solas might have considered turning back for Skyhold at this very moment.

For the most part, Solas enjoyed Dorian's company. Dorian was quite knowledgeable on subjects of magic – it only made sense as when he wasn't gambling or drinking his liver into oblivion, Dorian's nose was shoved into an ancient book. He understood how to clip magic, how to make it flow in the most conducive matter. Solas was inclined to pick his brain as often as he could.

On the other hand, there was the faux Warden. At one time, Solas thought they to be kindred spirits. Both had seen the ugliness of war. They understood the sacrifices made during wartime, the horror and the loss incurred with it. When Blackwall divulged the fact that he was a coward who had used his status to have innocents slain for a purse of coins, Solas was disgusted. He had nothing in common with a human like that. Solas did not want to associate himself with such a reprehensible creature, so he chose not to. He was inviting Athelanna's wrath with each day Solas refused to speak to Blackwall.

Solas chose the tent on the outskirts of camp, away from Blackwall and most of the scouts' tents. He preferred the quiet – his party members could get quite rowdy with the right beverage. Athelanna had been spending quite a lot of time with Dorian and Blackwall, passing the bottle between the two humans while telling stories and arguing politics. While they were loud and broke his attention from the tomes he toted along, he did find it entertaining to watch the drunken Dalish trying to teach the equally drunken Dorian how to shoot her longbow. Sometimes, after the others had gone to bed, she would saunter into his tent. The Dalish would ramble on a little of her clan, a little on whatever book Solas had in front of him ("Talk magey to me" was usually how she asked him), and before she nodded off she would make another plea for peace between him and Blackwall. Solas just let her sleep – she needed it, after all.

As he pulled out his books, he watched her from the corner of his eye. She was poring over notes with Scout Harding, her green _vallaslin _furrowing in concern. For a moment, light gray eyes met his, just above Harding's shoulder. Her eyebrows raised, a small smile pulled at her lips. The scar on her jaw twitched. Those eyes told him she had plans, but before he could glean any more information from them, Lace Harding reclaimed her attention with another report. Solas lied down in his tent and shut the flap from the outside sounds. He selected a journal from an early Orlesian soldier on his accounts of the Graves while invading_. _

Not more than an hour later, there was a rapping noise on his tent. Solas glanced up, but when no voice announced its presence, Solas went back to the journal.

"Solas, get your nose out of that book. Let's go explore!" Athelanna's voice was suddenly in his tent. The lithe Dalish had managed to wriggle in from the bottom of the flap. Clearly, he hadn't tightened the bottom rope enough. She was sporting a devilish grin. She crawled fully inside the tent and jumped on top of him. With a flick of her hand, Athelanna knocked the journal from his grasp. He could have easily retrieved it with a flick of his fingers, he instead he slid his hands onto her wiggling rear end.

"I wasn't thinking that kind of exploration, _ma fen. _I meant let's go explore the forest," Athelanna flattened her body against his. She was teasing him. If he just apologized to Blackwall, she would stop throwing heated glances at him, or biting her lip when he met her gaze for too long. Some days his resolve was weaker than others. Once he almost brought Blackwall to the side of the path, to come to a peace between them, but he decided against it. He would not lose so easily.

"_Ne harellan,"_ Solas whispered. He sat up, effectively pushing the Dalish off of him. "Let us be off then." The walk would help clear his mind, to strengthen his resolve with Blackwall and specifically, Athelanna. Solas pulled a light tunic over his head and collected his staff from the corner of his tent. He enjoyed the warmer temperatures. He suspected Athelanna was enjoying the warmth as well, no matter her inebriated ramblings on her love for the cold.

She seemed to enjoy being called a trickster. Athelanna sprang to her feet, her grin widening to an almost impossible length. There was no doubt in his mind that she was enjoying playing with him. She was just about to open the tent flap when he took her by the waist and pulled her into a kiss. Her lips were full and inviting. Even through the kiss she was smiling. Solas wanted her, right then, but that was not in her game plan. He nibbled her lower lip, causing her rosy lips to part in invitation. At that moment, Solas pulled away. It was his turn to smirk. "_Ma ghilana ma vhenan._" Solas loosened the ropes of the tent.

For a moment, she looked a mixture of incredulous and – was that annoyance as well? Solas held his hand out, waiting for her to leave. Athelanna composed herself and wore her cocky grin once more. She went to collect her longbow and greaves. Solas stood at the edge of camp. Dorian was no where to be found, but Blackwall was sitting next to a scout, giving the young man tips on how to properly turn a boar on the spittle.

"Let's get going," Athelanna grabbed him by the arm and led Solas away from camp. The elves' kept a brisk pace until the trees gave them shelter. The sounds and smells of camp were washed over with decaying plants and raucous birds. Their pace slowed to a leisurely stroll. "I figured you could use a break from the _shemlen_," Athelanna had refused to let go of his arm. They strolled as Orlesian nobility would stroll on the cobblestone.

Solas arched a brow. He chose not to speak – he figured the silence would be answer enough. There were not many people he would willingly spend hours with. For many years, Solas had walked alone. It was difficult to get along with others after so long. He preferred the solace of solidarity… but he would not deny that he enjoyed a certain Dalish's company. Her spirit was bright. Her desire to learn, to preserve history now lost was what attracted him. Then there was that something, something he could not put his finger on. She was… ineffable.

They continued on their stroll. It was peaceful in the forest. Magic permeated every living creature, its warmth radiating off the beings. He looked to Athelanna, her _vallaslin-_etched face bright with curiosity. "Can you feel the magic, Vhenan? It soaks into every square foot of the forest, influencing the wildlife, even the way the trees grow?" Solas was drinking in the sights, his mind abuzz with the history that took place in the forest. Many of years ago, between the trees they now walked, human and elven kind alike were killing each other for power and land. Blood of his people had been spilled – _shemlen _blood as well – and fed the trees.

"It feels… eerie, doesn't it?" Athelanna pressed closer to him, a shiver running up her spine.

A soft smile curled at his lips. "Perhaps. Ah… wait. Listen." Solas' hand went to his staff, white fingers curling around the notched grip. He had read the reports on the Graves; he understood the forest was riddled with enemies.

Athelanna let go of his arm. She reached back for his bow the moment she saw him go for his staff.

They were far away from camp, any foreign sounds were most likely not from friendly sources. There was a shuffling, not more than fifty meters away. "Be on your guard, Vhenan. I don't think we are alone," Solas pulled his staff from his back, the notched top glowing with a cold light. To his left, Athelanna held her bow in front of her, an arrow notched loosely in preparation. He just hoped that whatever it was, it meant no harm. If it meant harm, Solas just hoped it was a smaller force for the two to take down.

The noises were growing louder. Even with his advanced hearing, Solas was having difficulty discerning the source of the sound. The wildlife above had gone quiet. Solas tightened his grip on his staff. With a gesture he threw a barrier over them. Just in case.

For a moment, everything was still. Quiet. Then, without much warning, a huge, white bear leapt from the bush. A snarl ripped from its scarred throat, its massive paws splayed in front with sharpened claws prepared to tear them from limb to limb. 

Athelanna had already fired several arrows by the time the bear landed just feet from them. Spittle was flying from its jaws. "Solas, move!" he heard Athelanna cry. She grabbed him on the arm and yanked him out of harm's way as the bear ripped at the air. Solas felt the air ripple next to his face as its massive paw swung passed. The bear roared, furious at missing her prey.

Solas grit his teeth, twisting his body to ram his staff blade into its side. The bear snarled, spittle landing on his face. The huge beast's teeth were bared. It was well within range of taking him in its jaws and crushing him like a twig. He blasted the bloodthirsty creature with energy, sending its frame back several feet. Athelanna's arrows were sinking into her pelt, confusing the creature and enraging it all the same. Solas ran the opposite way, turning around only when he had enough space between him and those razor-sharp claws and teeth. He threw a barrier over the Dalish – he needed to keep her safe above all else.

He continued to aim spells at the massive, enraged creature. In the middle of throwing a cold spell at it – something he was well aware wasn't as effective as he wished it would be – Solas saw another creature moving in the corner of his eye. Solas groaned inwardly, until he noticed the creatures were much smaller versions of the beast attacking them. _Of course. She is protecting her young. She will stop at nothing to keep them safe. _Solas threw a cold flare above the trees, praying to whatever gods or goddesses still existed to help them. Athelanna was running low on arrows, and she could not dodge the massive mother bear forever. He conjured a freezing blizzard, but the bear's steps only slowed minimally. Her fur was the ultimate protection from the cold.

Athelanna unleashed her last arrow into the bear's face. She shouldered her bow and pulled the daggers from her belt. The bear was advancing, its form glowering over her lithe frame. Solas threw another barrier over her just as the Dalish was rolling from a paw swiping at her head. A cry ripped from Solas' throat – Athelanna had miscalculated the space she had and trapped herself in a mess of thick roots and an ancient tree. The bear barreled towards her.

Solas tried to run, to throw himself between the bear and his _vhenan_. He used his magic to quicken his steps, but there was no way. It raised a paw and sent Athelanna flying, blood spraying in her arc.

His heart plunged in his stomach.

Every second lasted for an eternity.

The bear had slowed its advance on the Dalish, but it still continued. It still threatened her. Solas threw himself at the bear, aiming spell after spell into its ragged hide. He crossed the space between him and the creature in seconds, driving the already bloodied staff blade in its side. The bear screamed, twisting as it tried to smite the elf back as it advanced on its prey.

As the bear tore its claw at him, Solas parried the massive paw with a blast of energy. She was thrown back a foot. In the brief reprieve, Solas danced around the bear, bulwarking himself between the Inquisitor and the bear. He _would _kill the bear, even if it killed him in the process.

She screamed, hot spittle flying from her bared teeth. She snapped her jaws at his head. Solas ducked, feeling the force of her jaws closing just above him. He slashed the end of his staff at her throat, blood spraying everywhere. Still, the bear roared on, still slicing through the air with teeth and claws. Solas fell backward to avoid a particularly heinous swipe, stumbling over the same root that tripped the Inquisitor. He conjured a blizzard to slow her, when a flash of red flew over his head.

_Did I just die?_ The elf asked himself.

"Solas, move!" cried a voice.

_Dorian. Perhaps there still is a god out there._

Blackwall roared as he raced passed him, blade primed and ready. Dorian raised a massive wall of fire between the bear and the elves. He continued to pummel fire into its fur, panicking the creature and turning it away from Athelanna. Solas scrambled to his feet to reach her, wincing as his feet stepped into blood. He dropped his staff to cradle her head in his lap. Dorian and Blackwall could handle the beast – he could only think of tending her.

Her medium-weight armor had shattered on impact, the bear's claws digging deeply into her side. Blood shuddered from hot, red gashes in her alabaster skin. Solas desperately patted her face. "_Ma vhenan_, please wake up," he begged. Her eyelids fluttered. Solas rolled the Inquisitor to the untouched side. He began to pump spirit energy into the wounds, closing his eyes as he attempted to piece together her shattered ribs and the torn skin.

He could only have been trying to repair the woman he thought invincible when Dorian kneeled at his side. "We need to get her back to camp," Dorian said.

"I'll take her there," Blackwall kneeled down across from Solas.

Solas looked at him, indecision wavering. He glanced to Dorian, who nodded in agreement. He pulled the light tunic over his head, pressing it to her wound to staunch the blood flow. "Her left ribs are broken. I need you to be as careful with her – she holds out salvation in her hand," Solas stared right into Blackwall's eyes. The human swallowed hard, but nonetheless nodded and began to lift her.

A soft moan came from her broken body. "Vhenan? _Mala suledin nadas,"_ he jogged next to Blackwall. He took her limp hand in his.

"Solas? _Ir abelas… ir abelas_," she whimpered, eyelids fluttering enough so Solas could see the gray in her eyes.

"_Banal, Da'len. Banal abelas. Ir abelas," _Solas continued to jog alongside Blackwall, until Dorian grabbed him by the shoulder and held him back.

"He can't get her to camp with you hovering over her," Dorian told him. The Tevinter looked grim, despite his attempts at pulling a smirk onto his lips. "She's a tough little thing, she'll be bouncing around in no time," he added. Solas wasn't sure on whom Dorian was trying to cheer up.

He watched Blackwall and Athelanna disappear behind the trees. His heart still hadn't left his stomach – now he just felt like vomiting. Solas needed to busy his hands. He turned his back to Dorian and moved to go collect her daggers and her longbow. _When she wakes up, she will be upset if she doesn't have her weapons._ To find her things, Solas just had to follow the trail of blood. The Inquisitor's bow was at the base of a tree; the string had snapped. Her daggers, several feet away, were slick with blood. He assumed it was the bear's. Out of the corner of his eye, Solas saw the great beast. Her white fur, already marred with battle trophies, was stained with red and charred black in other places. In the distance, the three cubs – already the size of Fereldan bears – stared at him with fear in their eyes. Solas sighed and turned away. "Let's go."

For once, Dorian was silent. His shock of black hair bobbed in agreement. The two departed back towards camp. Solas' feet moved slower. He dreaded going back to camp and confronting his worst nightmare. His bare feet walked along thick droplets of blood. It was Dorian who took him by the elbow and pulled the elf along.

Upon arriving at camp, all of the scouts were racing around. They were barking orders, but Solas couldn't hear anything they were saying. A scout nearly ran into them as she raced to the infirmary tent. Solas felt Dorian's fingers squeeze on his elbow. "Solas?" Dorian's voice was far away.

Solas let Dorian at the edge of camp. He returned to his tent and placed Athelanna's weapons in the corner. Athelanna was out, he assumed she was going over notes with Scout Harding, but she would want her prized weapons when she was done. Solas washed the blood from his face – a scout had left a bowl of water in his tent when they were away – and cleaned the blood from the Dalish's daggers. The water in the basin rippled pink. He rifled through his pack to procure a clean tunic. The infirmary tent was on the other side of camp, but Solas could still hear their shouts as clearly as if it was right next to him.

"Master Solas! The healer needs your help," a scout burst through the open flap. Her hands were saturated with red. Solas looked at her, not quite understanding. He couldn't understand why the healer would need him. Had a scout been injured? "It's the Inquisitor. We can't stop the blood," the scout continued.

He followed the scout, genuinely curious as to what was going on. The scout led him through the chaos. He stepped over a blood-crusted shirt that was sheared in half. An elf was lying on a cot. The healer was leaning over the elf, pressing down on the elf's side with a rag soaked in blood. The healer stood, a scout trading the bloodied rag with a fresh rag. It was then he saw Athelanna's white face.

At that moment, it became real. Solas leapt into action, pouring magic into the angry wrenches in her side. The odor of metal hit his nose as his hands quickly became slick with blood. He pulsed more spirit energy into her side while the healer shouted at the scouts to make poultices and boil more rags.

All the while, Athelanna wasn't responding. She was limp, lifeless. Solas hollered at a scout to keep his fingers on her neck – to never take his hands away even if the arch demon was laying waste to the camp. "I-I can't feel her pulse," the scout stammered, panic bright in his eyes.

"No, no! You do not give up!" Solas shouted at the limp Inquisitor. The healer blew air into her lungs while Solas cast another spell. He prayed to any available god. _You cannot take her away from me or the world._

"I found it, I found it!" the scout cried.

Solas was allowed to breathe. He poured more magic into the wound. The healer's rags were lasting longer. When she switched rags, the blood was smaller than before. "I don't think anybody can say the Inquisitor is weak now," Solas heard the healer say. Solas pulled his hands, still saturated with dried as well as fresh blood, away. They hung limp at his sides. As Solas washed his hands in the basin, the healer and several scouts worked on wrapping her torso with bandages thick with a smelly poultice.

The elf slumped on the ground near Athelanna's head. His arms were heavy, his head pounding. "If someone could bring me water and something to eat, I would much appreciate it," he croaked. Solas listened to the rise and fall of Athelanna's chest. It was weak, but it was there. A scout brought him wine and a bowl of cold meat. He didn't even bother asking what time it was. When they left, the meat was still cooking.

After nibbling at his meal, Solas got to his knees and began to wash her _vallaslin_-etched face_._ He murmured to her in their language, hoping his words would bring her back. He said anything just to keep talking. He recited stories on ancient elven gods, even stories on the Maker and Andraste. He spoke about his travels in the Fade, his thoughts on their travels throughout southern Thedas. Solas' throat was hoarse, but he kept on until he fell asleep with his head next to hers.

She had still not woken when the healer came in before dawn to replace her bandages. Solas helped mix the poultice from the herb stash and then laid the sticky mixture onto clean bandages. The healer and a scout then wrapped the bandages around the lithe elf. Once they left, Solas pulled a blanket up to her chin while he told more stories. He re-braided her piece of hair and combed his fingers through her silken strands. Dorian and Blackwall came in to sit with him, but both men were clearly uncomfortable seeing their leader incapacitated. They left camp to clear out some Freemen, always returning before nightfall.

The next day ran at the same pace. They cleaned her wounds, changed her bandages, the two humans came in to see Athelanna, and left with several scouts. Solas was left alone with her for most of the day, with the exception of the healer and several scouts. Athelanna's breathing was the only glimpse of life.

So Solas sat with her and murmured stories until his voice was begging reprieve. He played with her hair, laid on the cot with her, and simply kept her company. It was _his _fault she was on this cot with her skin turned to ribbons. Solas battled the guilt that wrenched his gut by talking, talking, and talking. He knew enough stories for a lifetime of talking, but he hoped he wouldn't have to tell stories much longer. He longed to see her smile, to sit in the rotunda discussing everything under the sun, and to feel her heat in the cold mountain air.

"We hear stories of elves living in trees and imagine wooden ramps and aravels. Can you imagine spires of crystal twining through the branches, palaces floating among the clouds? There were beings who lived forever, for whom magic was as natural as breathing. That is what was lost. That was Arlathan." Solas got up from the cot to retrieve a drink of water, to rub a little water on her lips to keep them from drying. "Arlathan was the capital for a massive empire for Elvhenan. Arlathan was rich, comparable to Val Royeaux and every aspect of life was woven with magic.

"I don't think you've ever talked so much. Are you ill?" came a weak, rough voice.

Solas dropped the bowl back into the basin. Water splashed everywhere. "Vhenan? Are you awake?" he asked tentatively, refusing to turn around. Perhaps he was hearing voice? Perhaps she was sleep talking?

She giggled. "You are ill, aren't you?" A cough broke off her laughter. She was mocking him.

Solas turned around, meeting her gray eyes. She was trying to sit up and had only managed to get an inch off the cot. "No, no, you need to rest. Don't make me strap you down," Solas rushed to her side, the bowl of water in a hand. He gently pushed her back down. She wrinkled her nose at him.

"What happened?" she whispered. She accepted the bowl, sipping at the contents.

"We were attacked by a very angry mother bear. We seemed to have stumbled near her and her cubs," Solas answered. Athelanna laughed only to be racked with coughs. He pushed the water bowl to her lips until the coughs subsided. The injured elf handed the bowl back to him.

Athelanna's eyes were full of humor. "I seem to have very bad luck with wolves and bears alike," she croaked.

Solas laughed nervously. "I ought to lock you in your quarters to keep you safe," he ran his fingertips along her jawbone, feeling the skin marred by a wolf a lifetime ago.

"I would go mad."

"Mad or no, you would be safe." Solas smiled softly, appreciating petite nose as it wrinkled in disgust.

"You would be eaten by an arch demon," she rebutted.

Solas sighed. She _was_ right – he was going to have to send her to meet Corypheus and his pet dragon. "You, of course, are right Vhenan," Solas kissed her forehead.

"I'm not dying, Solas. You can kiss me on the lips," she whispered.

He smiled and shook his head. Solas delicately kissed her on the lips. It was just a touch – he worried about breaking her. When he pulled away, his smile widening as he saw her pout. "I'll give you a real kiss when you are well. So heal up, Vhenan.

"_Telenadas," _she said through her pout.

Solas retrieved a letter from the table. "This came for you just yesterday. It's a letter from Lady Josephine," he put it in her hands.

Athelanna read Josephine's fine script and groaned. "First you won't kiss me then you tell me this? You are not very kind to me. I battled a bear for you."

Solas smirked through his guilt. She was jesting, but it stung nevertheless. "Morrigan is in Skyhold. Don't shoot the messenger, Vhenan."

"Just tell her I died, will you? Then we can go off into the wilderness and I'll be your love slave," Athelanna coughed again.

"You'll have to face the witch eventually." Solas brought her another bowl of water.

Solas didn't like Morrigan either, nor did he think they needed her assistance in defeating Corypheus, but she was a part of their group on the queen's orders. He would have to ask Leliana on her dealings with the witch upon their return.

"Just come sit with me and help me forget my duties for a while. You could finish telling me about Arlathan. At least before Dorian and Blackwall know I'm awake. Please?" Solas helped lift her head so she could drink.

"_Ma nuvenin,_" Solas obliged. "So. Back on Arlathan…"

_**Translation Guide:**_

_Ma fen: _my wolf

_Ne harellan: _you trickster

_Ma ghilana ma vhenan: _Guide me, my heart

_Mala suledin nadas: _Now you must endure.

_Ir abelas… ir abelas: _I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

_Banal, Da'len. Banal abelas. Ir abelas: _No, little one. No sorrow. I'm sorry.

_Telenadas: _Nothing is inevitable.

_Ma nuvenin: _As you wish.


	7. Chapter 7

Solas was driving her _nuts._

As much as she loved and respected him, she wanted to get out and _do _something. Ever since she had woken up with her skin slashed to ribbons, Solas had not left her side. Every time she winced, Solas leapt to her side. He fussed over how much she was eating, how much she was moving, and how little she complained. Solas, much like Fennar and Lerel after her run-in with a starving wolf, wouldn't let her piss without permission.

It had been a week since her attack and Solas had finally left her alone. The kicker was, she forced to stay in camp while the rest of her group went out, explored the Graves, and killed Freemen and Red Templars alike. Her ribs were still broken – Solas' skills did not lie in repairing broken bones – but she could still ride a horse. It didn't even hurt too much to pull a lighter longbow. But Solas insisted she stay still. He even gave her a few books to read while he went out with Dorian and Blackwall. Even with Solas gone, the scouts were still hovering around her. She almost preferred having her apostate hanging around – he at least spoke to her.

To busy herself, Athelanna read while pacing. She read while stretching until a scout informed her she shouldn't be pushing her broken ribs so far. But they didn't realize the pain made her feel _alive_. She had never been forced to sit in one place for so long. Athelanna wasn't some pretty songbird to be shoved in a cage with her wings clipped. All her life she had been going, going, and going. Going meant she was still alive. Going was hunting, dancing, and defending her clan from unfriendly _shemlen_. Going was living. She didn't like this sitting business, and she definitely didn't like being left behind. Even with broken ribs, Athelanna could still raise her hand to close rifts.

"You don't take orders from Solas, you take orders from me! I close rifts, not he!" Athelanna argued with one of the lead scouts. The scout's face was steel despite getting reamed by his superior. Her patience was thin, and they weren't seeing reason. A walk would appreciative at this point.

"I'm sorry, my lady. Even the healer agrees you shouldn't be doing physical activity due to your condition." The scout was dutiful in his reply. His eyes expressed sympathy that drove her mad. She was internally screaming. At risk of losing her composure at the poor scout, Athelanna stormed away to her All-Bred to comb out the imaginary burs in her black-and-white coat.

Her All-Bred stomped as she approached. She wasn't entirely happy with her either. Like Athelanna, she was cooped up while the other mounts were traversing the Graves. Her mount needed to run, to feel the wind in her hair. So did Athelanna.

Athelanna looked around her. The scout she had berated had gone to perform some task. All of the other scouts were either on patrol or otherwise occupied. A rack of swords was just feet away from her, even a few longbows just begging to be taken. Not seeing arrows to go with a longbow, Athelanna found a belt and scabbard to house one of the lighter swords. The belt was loose on her – it was meant to fit a human. She slipped a bridle onto her All-Bred's nose. She stood in front of her mount and held a finger to her lips. She seemed to understand. When Athelanna led her from the other mounts, she chose each step carefully to avoid causing a disturbance. The few mounts that remained were content to gnash on leaves and grass.

She felt like she was back in the Free Marches, attempting to sneak from her tent to go meet one of the elves she had a crush on. No matter how many times her parents, even Hahren, begged her to stop sneaking out, she couldn't stay away. Athelanna could remember what he looked like, even after all of those years. He had long brown hair, almost always tied in a braid. His skin was kissed by the sun from years of hunting, his blue _vallaslin_ bright against the brown of his forehead. His smile was addicting and never-ending despite the hardship he and their clan endured. Alaran was his name, the name of her first love. Alaran often convinced her to sneak out of her tent, to visit her under the moonlight. It was dangerous, stupid, and irrational but it had been _so_ exciting. Alaran often gave her kissing lessons under the moon. Sometimes, when their clan was near the ocean, he would take her to the top of a hill to watch the waves. She distinctly remembered the bright blue _vallaslin_, the same arching tree she had, as he came closer to touch his lips with hers.

Solas was so different than her fun-loving Alaran. Where Solas was grim, Alaran was joy. Where Solas was quiet, Alaran's was noisy. She loved them both in their own ways. She admired Solas' quiet nature, his passion for knowledge and his irrefutable resolution. She admired Alaran's tenacity, his refusal to back down from a challenge. Both he and Alaran shared that: they were both passionate and stubborn to a fault. Perhaps that was the kind of elf she was attracted to: the elves that stood by their convictions.

She had even been on track to marry the rambunctious hunter when he and several others from her clan had been overtaken by a group of hostile _shemlen_. Athelanna didn't like to think about that day. She chose to remember they lives of those who were lost. She chose to remember Alaran's smile and the way his eyes sparkled with mischief.

Athelanna looked over her shoulder once more. The camp was behind several trees, and she could not see any scouts. She clambered onto her mount, her side screaming in pain. The pain was sweet, reminding her that _yes_, she was alive. Athelanna touched her mouth with her heels, goading her mount to canter to reach the winding forest path. Once there, Athelanna touched her heels again and they raced down the path. Athelanna held onto her mane for purchase. Every time her hooves touched the ground, her side cried out in pain. It felt good to be moving, to feel the wind throw back her hair despite her ribs protesting.

The trees flew by in a blur. August rams scattered from the path as they flew by, some of the males even bounded along next to them in challenge. Athelanna touched her heels to her mount's flanks, encouraging her to go faster until the rams finally gave up and turned back. Athelanna whooped in victory. Her mount slowed to a walk shortly after, both of them breathing hard. "Feel better now?" Athelanna laughed as she patted her mount's neck.

Athelanna swung off her back, her thighs aching. Taking the bridle, the Dalish led her to a tree to rest. It was the perfect tree with massive boughs, a thick, gnarled trunk, and an excellent root system to lie in. She let her All-Bred graze on the herbs and grasses that grew plentiful in the Graves. Athelanna eased onto the ground, watching her mount graze. "Y'know, I never did give you a name… but I like you. You're a _harellan _like me – at least that's what Solas would say. Plus you're quick. I shall call you Assan. You are the arrow in my quiver, _harellan._" Athelanna smiled. Assan snorted as she pulled up an elfroot. Athelanna took it as acceptance.

She lied in the roots, favoring her right side to relieve the pain from her left. The birds chirruped in the branches, creating a sweet melody for her and Assan. Their songs were almost sweeter than the strings in Halamshiral. Athelanna closed her eyes, but kept her ears pricked for any movement. She thought of her past in the Free Marches, this time thinking of her parents with their warm smiles. She remembered Mamae's grace as she twisted magic to create fire, to set a broken bone, and to make clothing. Papae's skills lied in building and repairing aravels. He taught her how to shoot squirrels out of the trees with the tenuous child-sized longbow he made with his own two hands.

Athelanna eased herself from the roots and led Assan around the forest. It had been a week since she and Solas had encountered the great bear. The elven apostate had done a great job at repairing the gashes her claws had caused. There would forever be a few thin lines in her skin as a reminder. She appreciated her scars, wore them like trophies. It was just another to add to her collection. While she was thankful to Solas for fixing up her wounds, but the elf needed to understand that she wasn't some snot-nosed kid to be babysat. Athelanna could, for the most part, take care of herself. It wasn't everyday a giant, pissed off mother bear came barreling towards her. Hopefully this little excursion would remind Solas she could be out and about without him to protect her.

Assan was a great partner for exploring. Like Athelanna, she was quite curious about the forest around her, not to mention her appetite was insatiable. The All-Bred was a quiet listener, listening to Athelanna's stories of her clan. Athelanna told stories of Fennar and Lerel, of times spent with her parents, and of her nighttime excursions with Alaran. Her heart ached for her clan, for the times of innocence long lost.

The sun was beginning to set behind the trees by the time Athelanna and Assan ventured back towards camp. They took their time heading back. Athelanna walked alongside her mount – she wasn't sure she could handle another ride with her ribs. Going back to camp took much longer than leaving it, she realized. Athelanna continued to tell Assan stories of her childhood as they walked.

When camp finally came into view, Athelanna was quick to pick up the high level activity at camp. Scouts were coming and going with torches in their hands. Each set of scouts was going in a different direction. _Wonder what's going on?_ Athelanna walked Assan to a tree and walked to the center of camp. She found the nearest scout. "What's going on?" she asked.

"Inquisitor! You're safe!" the scout exclaimed. Before she could react, the scout ran off while she shouted, "I found her! I found her!"

Athelanna was left in the center of camp, scratching her head. Had they thought she had gone missing, or taken? Did they really think she was that weak to be overtaken by a Freeman, or a Red Templar? Athelanna was insulted.

Several scouts met her in the middle of camp. All asked if she was all right – the healer even came rushing to check on her well-being. Athelanna waved the healer off. Then Lace Harding came. "Inquisitor! Where have you been?" the lead scout's brow was furrowed. Before she could answer, Scout Harding grabbed the nearest scout. "Bring them all back." The scout left to release a flare.

"I went on a walk. What's going on?" Athelanna demanded.

"We thought you were kidnapped, or you were at least in trouble, so we've been searching for you for hours. We all thought the worst." Lace crossed her arms over her chest. It was like her father caught her sneaking out all over again.

"I'm sorry. I just needed to get out of here." Athelanna rubbed the back of her neck.

To satiate her displeasure, Scout Harding made Athelanna sit for the healer and eat several bowls of stew until she was sure stew would leak out of her ears. She also had to listen to Lace's rebukes. While she did not enjoy being lectured by Lace, she was quite aware Solas' reprimands would much worse. Athelanna was just about to sneak off to her tent when her companions stormed into camp. _Andruil protect your loyal servant._

Solas' normally calm face was twisted with rage. She could imagine steam coming out of his ears – but that didn't make her feel better for very long. Even Dorian and Blackwall looked disapproving. Dorian looked like he wanted to say something, but held back. Blackwall wouldn't look her in the eyes, his mouth set into a line. Instead of incurring some of Solas' wrath, the two departed to their respective tents. The scouts that hung around were also quick to find other duties. Solas' face was enough to scare a pack of hungry wolves away. "_Garas_." Solas turned away, walking towards the outskirts of camp. Athelanna wrung her hands, unsure if she should willingly walk to her death. Despite every part of her body telling her to stay away, Athelanna walked after Solas. She didn't like the way his shoulders were set, or the way the vein pulsed in the back of his head.

Athelanna caught up with him, but Solas had yet to speak. Instead, he paced. She waited for him to speak while she wrung her hands. She refused to break the silence, as she was afraid of unleashing a bomb.

"Tell me why you thought it prudent to leave without telling a soul." His voice was low, threatening. Solas was still pacing with his hands behind his back. Athelanna's words caught in her throat. She couldn't speak. "_Dirthera ma."_ The apostate stopped pacing and looked right into her eyes.

Her reasoning for leaving now seemed very childish and unsuitable for an Inquisitor. Gray eyes were cast down to her feet. For a moment, she stared at her toes as they wriggled uncomfortably in the dirt. Athelanna swallowed the lump in her throat. "I… needed to get out. I needed to feel the wind in my face," she glanced back up to look at the apostate. "I don't do well sitting around with my thumb up my ass while I wait for you to get back."

His anger did not abate. "You had no right, Inquisitor. You had the entire camp thinking you were in danger, but you were just off having a joy ride? You need to rest before we journey back to Skyhold."

"Do _not_ 'Inquisitor' me!" Athelanna was angry now. She stepped forward, eyes bright with indignation. "You could have just let me come along! No, instead you left me alone likeone of those _shemlen_ that can't take care of themselves! Like some pretty princess locked away in a tower waiting for her Prince Charming to come save her! I hate to break it to you Solas, but I am no doe-eyed princess. I am the leader of the Inquisition. I can hit the nail on your little finger with an arrow from fifty yards away. So _don't_ treat me like I can't defend myself with a few broken ribs."

Solas' gaze did not break, even when it was Athelanna's turn to yell. "Do you remember when I woke up after I got hurt? And you said you wanted to lock me up in a room so I'll be safe? Well you can't do that! I'm going to get hurt. I might even die when I fight Corypheus! You can't protect me from everything! You don't even have a claim to me!"

"That does not give you an excuse to run away like a petulant child. You could have died out there and nobody would have known. Your life is inexplicitly linked to every living creature in Thedas. You die, we all die," Solas took a step forward. "So do not act like I'm keeping you back like a princess in a story. I'm keeping you back to save the world."

Athelanna's brows furrowed. She crossed her arms over her chest despite the twinge of pain it caused. "So that's all I am to you? A workhorse you work until it falls over in the field and dies?" There were tears building, but she would not cry in front of Solas. He had been playing her this entire time and she, like a fool, bought into his ruse.

Solas' shoulders dropped. His eyes softened. "_Banal. Ne dar ma asha, ma vhenan." _

Athelanna chewed on the inside of her cheek. As much as she wanted to believe what he said and to fall into his arms, she couldn't. They were words, and words were hollow without the action that followed to make them whole. "If you're done chastising me, I'd like to go back to my tent. I would hate to extend myself too much." Athelanna didn't give him time to respond – she fled back to her tent. As she approached the flap, she looked back from where she came. Solas had not yet come back, but she didn't want him to find her. Athelanna sneaked into Dorian's tent instead.

"I'm still upset with you." Dorian warned. He was sitting up with a cup of wine in his hand. A book was opened in his lap, but it was clear he hadn't been reading. The mischievous glint in his eyes was absent.

Athelanna pushed his book aside and laid her head in his lap. "_Ir abelas, Lethallin._ I just needed to get out of camp or I was going to lose my mind. Will you forgive me?" Athelanna wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye. She didn't need Dorian cross with her too.

"I only wish you took me along. I was quite worried about you. You are my only friend – my best friend – and this place wouldn't be very much fun without you." Dorian sighed heavily. She took it as an acceptance of her apology. "Solas was a storm cloud when they told us what you had been up to. Are you all right?"

Athelanna smiled softly. "No, not really. I've just been played a fool this whole time. No big deal." She sat up, wincing while she rose. Dorian handed her his cup of wine, which she gladly finished. He filled her cup and another from his flask.

"Men." Dorian said succinctly.

Athelanna's smiled widened. She held her cup out to toast. "Men."

"Now, tell Dorian all of your woes. As you say down south, I'm 'all ears'." Dorian's grin was back. When he wanted to be, Dorian could be an excellent listener. Athelanna leaned against him and sipped at her wine, telling him everything from the start of her day to the moment she stormed away from Solas. He remained dutifully quiet and nodded here and there. When she finished spinning her tale, Dorian clicked his tongue.

"You're going to be upset – please don't hurt me, I bruise like a peach – but I agree with Solas." Athelanna's mouth fell open. She sat up and moved away from the mage. She couldn't willingly sit next to someone who took Solas' side. "But he shouldn't have held you back. Also, you shouldn't have run off. You are a very important elf, Athelanna. You can't just run away when you don't get what you want." Dorian took her hand and pulled her closer despite her protests.

"Dorian is the voice of reason. You should listen to him." Dorian added with a smirk.

"Dorian is also very full of himself and needs to get his ego checked." Athelanna scowled and drank her wine.

"As much as you think so, I do believe you love my ego. Some people find it very appealing." Dorian continued to sip at his wine. His very fashionable mustache only accentuated his smirk. Elves did not grow body or facial hair, so while Athelanna found the mustache suitable for the Tevinter, she thought it fascinatingly strange.

Athelanna grunted in reply. Dorian was right, but she refused to tell him so. After a moment of silence, Athelanna asked, "Can I crash here tonight? I don't want to see Solas right now."

"You just love giving the scouts fuel for their gossip, my lady elf," Dorian cackled. "A Tevinter mage who prefers men allows the lady Inquisitor into his tent for the night, after she has a lover's quarrel with her elven apostate? I couldn't make this up even on my best day." Nonetheless, Dorian found her a blanket and lit a small brazier in the corner. She laid on her right side with the heat of the fire at her back. Dorian was lying on his bedroll, a book propped in his hand. Athelanna was supposed to be sleeping, but she couldn't. She was still revved up from her confrontation with Solas.

"Can you read your book aloud? It might help me sleep, or at the very least, learn something," Athelanna pleaded. Dorian smiled softly and obliged. She didn't fall asleep even after Dorian's eyes had closed shut and his words broke off. Athelanna got to her feet and tiptoed from the tent. It was well into the evening, she saw. The darkness was at its most saturated. The moon was a thin sliver in the sky. By the half moon, they would venture back to Skyhold. She looked forward to a hot bath. Josephine had promised to arrange the delivery of a porcelain tub upon her return.

Athelanna sat at the dwindling fire in the center of camp. She could see the backs of the scouts that had pulled watch duty, far at the outskirts of tents and supplies. Athelanna lifted her head to see if she could pick out the constellations through the boughs. It was peaceful here. The Dalish crawled from the bench and lay on her back. She wanted to enjoy what few stars she could see without craning her neck.

After trying (and failing) to find constellations such as Andruil and her bow or Sylaise and her fire, Athelanna drifted off to sleep with her hands behind her head.

She was back in Halamshiral – the Halamshiral of masquerades and betrayals. Athelanna stood in the middle of the hall as nobles in ornate dresses and suits moved passed her. None of them paid any attention to her. It was quite nice. Athelanna kept moving, scratching her head as she saw Cullen, his face red, as he turned down an offer to dance by some minor nobleman. She was confused why she was here – was she that good at slipping into the Fade by now?

Athelanna weaved through the crowds of people. On the ballroom floor, dozens of human men and women were dancing. There was blood on the floor, and an elf trying to scrub it off the marble before it stained. _They must be stuffing the Duchess into a box by now. _Athelanna thought with a grin. She found a spot on the banister to lean on as she watched the Empress, with Briala by her side, and a very strapping Dalish Inquisitor address the people on the ballroom.

_I don't know why they chose red to be our color. It makes me look whiter than I ever thought possible. _Athelanna wrinkled her nose. Still, she had to admit she had given a rousing speech to the drooling nobles. Athelanna waited while her form shook hands with the Orlesians and smiled her best, fake smile while they cooed over her victory. _I'll have to ask Leliana how to smile at people you hate. Mine is a good one, but it could be more sickeningly sweet._

Athelanna waited a little longer. Soon, she knew, a tired Inquisitor would slip away onto the balcony where her _most favorite _occult advisor would join her. Then, Morrigan would leave – _she stayed long enough – _and then Solas would join her. Athelanna watched as Solas stood by the door, his hands politely behind his back while he waited. He was observing the Orlesians around him with a hint of a smile at his lips. The Orlesians ignored him, of course. Athelanna moved closer, admiring the way the light hit his features. _This Solas let me do dangerous things without treating me like a child. _Athelanna thought bitterly.

Morrigan stepped from the balcony. Solas moved quickly to reach the balcony before anybody else did. Athelanna sneaked onto the balcony – as if anyone was going to catch her – and found the perfect place on the balustrade to watch.

She watched as he smiled at her. She felt her heart thump a little faster, just like it did before. There was tenderness in his eyes as he regarded her, an ease to his smile that she could not deny. _Could anybody fake that?_ Athelanna chewed on her fingernails.

Solas was much better at dancing than she, Athelanna noted. He held her tightly, his lips hovering by her pointed ear. Athelanna shivered. _You were the belle of the ball tonight, Vhenan. _It had been cheesy, and silly, but right then, Solas made her feel like a princess in one of those stories that the other Dalish girls wanted to hear. Athelanna had preferred stories of Andruil, and other great elves completing heroic fetes.

Athelanna continued to spy on herself and Solas as they danced. It was weird watching herself kiss him, but she could remember every jolt of lightning his lips caused. She giggled as Solas copped a feel on her rump, remembering full well what she was feeling at that moment. _I wanted to jump him right then and there. What a perfect way to end the masquerade – with scandal. Josephine might have died from humiliation if we had and anybody found out._

Athelanna crossed her legs on the balustrade. Watching her memory was stirring something in her. _I really do love that knife-eared bastard._ She thought vehemently. It made her mad to admit that, despite Solas' extreme pride, she did. _Ma emma lath. Ma vhenan'ara. _Was it fear that was roiling in her stomach? The last time she truly gave her heart to someone, he had died. For a while, she had died too. But Solas had breathed life back into her heart – he drove her crazy sometimes, but she was _alive _when she was with him_. Ma fen._

_What was it that Mamae told me? It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all? _Athelanna mused. She remembered Mamae comforting her with those words, just a young girl who had earned her braid, after Alaran's funeral. No one could deny Mamae's wisdom.

Athelanna rose from the balustrade just as the music was ending. She and Solas were still dancing. Athelanna left the two to her memories and awoke from her dream. There was something she needed to tell Solas.

_Ma emma lath. Ma vhenan'ara._

* * *

_Thank you to everyone who has read this! I appreciate each and every one of you._

**_Elvish Translation Guide:_**

**Harellan: **trickster

**Assan: **arrow

**Garas: **come

**Dirthera ma: **tell me

**Banal. Ne dar ma asha, ma vhenan: **No. You are my woman, my heart.

**Ir abelas, Lethallin: **I'm sorry, my kin (or friend. It's a term of familiarity).

**Ma emma lath: **You are my love.

**Ma vhenan'ara: **My heart's desire.

**Ma fen: **My wolf.


	8. Chapter 8

The sun was still tucked away when Athelanna awoke from her dream. A curious scout was sitting at the opposite end of the fire as she tended the fire back to life. Athelanna forced one of those sickeningly sweet smiles – _no time like the present to practice _– to calm the scout's questions. "I was admiring the stars and went right to sleep. Thank you for watching over me as I napped." Athelanna struggled to her feet. "Have you seen Master Solas about?" she inquired lightly. She had no doubt that all the scouts knew about their… disagreement.

"No, my lady. He came back to camp hours ago, but he left shortly afterwards. I do not believe he has returned," the scout answered. Athelanna nodded her head and went to her tent to retrieve the things she needed to go search for her apostate.

With a pair of daggers tucked into her belt and the easiest tunic she could put on, Athelanna set out. She stopped by Solas' tent, but as she suspected, it was empty. His bedroll looked as if it had not been touched since last night. A stack of books sat next to the bedroll, threatening to topple at any minute. A smile touched her lips. _How does he fit so much information into that bald head of his?_ Athelanna left the tent and just started walking. She ran into a scout doing his rounds. "I'll be out for awhile. I should be back soon." Athelanna's steps quickened to a steady jog. She didn't want the scout to find _anyone_ to stop her. They ought to be glad she let them know this time.

After a few minutes of jogging, Athelanna slowed. Her side was killing her, the bones groaning in defiance every step of the way. Riding Assan at full speed had not been logical, but despite the repercussions she would not change a single thing she had done. Athelanna looked about, trying to ascertain where she was. Back in the Free Marches, Athelanna had every tree mapped and plotted in her mind. She had explored every inch of that forest as she hunted for halla. Here, in this foreign forest, she was lost at every turn. She raised her face to the sky to use the stars as a path – _Not like I know where Solas is hiding – _but the sky was beginning to lighten. The stars were losing their battle with the sun. She might have to go back without Solas.

With her guides leaving her, Athelanna just walked. There was no use tracking the apostate – he was too lithe and his steps were too light to bother checking the trails for footprints. She could track Dorian or Blackwall just fine, as humans tended to step heavier. Humans wore shoes that weighed their feet, while elves often did not wear shoes. Athelanna was quite skilled in tracking them throughout her life. Tracking humans was essential to life for her clan. While many humans they encountered were amenable towards her clan – they traded and dealt with many on a monthly basis – but some had posed a threat. She was taught to be cautious, to always have someone traveling along, and to always have a full quiver of arrows.

Athelanna pressed forward, taking the opportunity to touch the calloused bark of ancient trees as she slid by. These trees felt friendly to her fingertips. The _shemlen _of their group, as well at the quicklings at camp, complained of the opposite. They said the forest made them feel uneasy. Athelanna had a feeling it was due to the history, to all of the _elvhen_ blood that had watered the ground. _Elvhen _blood spilled by _shemlen._

_"Elgara vallas, da'len_

_Melava somniar_

_Mala tara aravas_

_Ara ma'desen melar."_

Athelanna hadn't thought of the lullaby Mamae used to sing to her, but here, in the trees, it was at the forefront of her mind. She used to sing it to her when she could not sleep, when Papae was gone to _shemlen_ cities to sell the clan's goods. She used to fret, even as a little girl, when he was gone too long. It was easy to think the worst – death by _shemlen, _death by wild animal, death by accident. There was so much that could go wrong out in the Marches, when it was just him and another from their clan. But he always came home. When he did, Papae always asked her, "Why did you worry? I came back safe. There was no need to worry, _emm'asha_."

She always replied, "It looks like my worrying paid off, Papae. You're safe!" Papae always laughed after that. His laugh was deep and warm, like a river on a hot summer's day. Her heart ached for his laugh.

"_Iras ma ghilas, da'len._

_Ara ma'nedan ashir_

_Dirthara lothlenan'as_

_Bal emma mal dir."_

Athelanna turned around in her spot. The voice was not hers. The lyrics were sung with a deep and clear voice. She searched for the source, her hands reaching for the daggers in her belt.

"_Tel'enfenim, da'len_

_Irassel ma ghilas_

_Ma garas mir renan_

_Ara ma'athlan vhenas_

_Ara ma'athlan vhenas."_

"Andruil protect me. Solas! How long have you been following me?" Athelanna watched as the apostate slinked from between the trees.

"If you have to ask, then you are not the hunter I thought you to be, Inquisitor." Solas leaned against a tree. His tone was playful, but his face was its usual polite exterior.

She ignored the jibe at her hunting abilities. "How do you know that song?" Athelanna inquired. While she did not have much contact with other elves outside of her clan – other than the Arlathvhen – and the elves she met at the Inquisition, she did not often discuss favorite lullabies sung by one's mothers.

"I learned it in the Fade. A close friend taught me." Solas did not move from his spot against the tree. She wished he did, but then again, she was glad he kept his space. He had some indiscretions to apologize for. Any closer, and Athelanna might forgive everything in exchange for a touch.

Athelanna smiled weakly. Of course he did. She wondered if Solas' mother had ever sung him a lullaby. She found it difficult to imagine a young Solas – perhaps with hair – but a Solas who knew nothing of the word, who was unsure of his steps, of a Solas that did not carry that sad smile with him. "I suppose you're going to chastise me for going out on my own?" Athelanna hooked her thumbs under her belt.

"Is that something you would enjoy?" Solas countered. When she glanced up at his face, she could see the hint of a smirk at his lips.

Athelanna's smile turned to a frown. "Solas." She wasn't in the mood for Solas to dance around her questions.

Solas got up from the tree and took a few steps closer to her. "Where have you been?" Athelanna asked. She stepped back, keeping the distance between them. Just the hint of a smile was enough to make her forgive him. It was his subtleties that drew her in. She lived to see those little smiles, loved to hear the humor sprinkled into his conversation. Every day with him was her searching for the treasure he had buried underneath his polite façade.

Solas continued to advance towards her. His steps were soft, his movements self-assured. "I found a quiet place and went to sleep. I needed to consult with a friend of mine."

The Dalish raised an eyebrow. Solas had mentioned friends in the past, but there were very few that had names. "What did you need to ask this friend about? How to apologize for being an ass?" Athelanna's back brushed up against a tree. She stepped around it to keep the space between her and Solas. He kept taking leisurely steps towards her, unperturbed by her willingness to stay away from him.

The apostate pretended he didn't hear her quip. "I just needed some advice on a particularly difficult elf."

"And? Was this friend helpful?"

"I suppose we'll have to see and find out." Solas had gained some ground on her. He had effortlessly herded her into a small clearing. If she was not being corralled like a herd of halla, Athelanna might have appreciated the embrium that grew plentiful here. She was infamous for obsessively collecting herbs.

Athelanna stopped in the center of the clearing. She did not enjoy this dance of words. Every question she posed was deflected as easily as Solas would turn a blade. She did not want their words to be battles. "Let's just cut to the quick, shall we? Are you going to apologize so we can get passed this?" Athelanna's hands rested on her hips.

"Apologize for what, may I ask?" Solas was just an arm's length from her. He could have reached out, touched her, and ended this vocal tussle here and there. His arms remained at his side.

Athelanna breathed through her nose. _Elgar'nan… give me strength to see through this man's bull-headedness. _

"For treating me like a child and putting me in time-out for a week." Athelanna tilted her head to the side, her braid dangling. For once in her life she was going to have to try and be the agreeable one. This would be a lesson for both of them. "I know you haven't forgotten."

The smirk faltered from his lips. Solas was just a finger's breadth from her. "I did what I thought was right, Vhenan. You may disagree, you may think me unbending, but that is what I believe." Long, soft fingers traced the scar on her jaw. Athelanna felt her breath hitch in her chest. _Damn this man. I must not give in so easily._

Athelanna took his hand in both of hers and pulled it from her face. She held it out in front of her. "I do think you unbending. Why can't you just apologize? I was miserable when you left me behind. I was less miserable – but still miserable – when you were hovering over me for a week like an invalid. Just apologize because it's getting very hard not to kiss you right now." Her gray eyes flitted from his unyielding gaze, down to their bare toes.

"Vhenan…" Solas used his free hand to pull her gaze back to him. His thumb traced the faint hit of scar just below her lower lip.

"Solas, please." Athelanna was on the cusp of giving in. Solas was well aware of the hold he had over her, otherwise he would not be touching her so _delicately. _They spoke volumes louder than his passionate embraces with rough hands and eager kisses. These were quiet desires, soft and secret. These desires lit her nerves on fire.

She heard him sigh and his hand went away. "Perhaps…" There was a silence. Athelanna lifted her gaze once more. "Perhaps I have a guilty conscience for not protecting you as well as I should have."

Athelanna could feel her heart melting in her chest. It all made sense – when had Solas ever hovered, fretted, and clucked over her like this? Athelanna had gotten herself injured too many times to count, but never when it was just she and Solas on their own. Her apostate had always been able to heal the cuts and bruises, burns and sprained joints. "And?" She took his hand again.

His gaze met hers once more. "_Ir abelas, ma vhenan."_

Once again, she could breathe. Athelanna closed the gap between them only to bury her head in his chest. "_Ma serannas, ma fen."_ His arms closed around her and pulled her tightly against his front.

"Isn't your turn to apologize, Vhenan?" Solas whispered.

Athelanna twisted in his grasp so she could see him. There was that smirk again. She groaned and pressed her face into his neck. Was it worth going to war with him again? "May I ask what for?" she asked, her breath hot against his smooth skin.

"For running off on your own. I was mad with worry," Solas kissed the top of her head.

She groaned again. "_Ir abelas."_

"That wasn't too hard, now was it?" Solas was chuckling, his voice thundering against her ear.

"I can see why it took you so long to apologize to me. It's very hard," Athelanna admitted. She pulled back from the warmth of his smooth skin. There was a familiar tenderness in his eyes, a glint that stirred something deep inside of her. Only once had this feeling arose inside of her. It was terrifying to be in its embrace once more. "Solas…"

Before she could continue, the apostate kissed her. His lips knocked the words from her tongue. She wanted to suppress the words bubbling up in her throat, to stop them before they became reality. Once she whispered any string of words that involved "love", it was true and terribly frightening. Admitting her feelings out loud might scare her apostate away and she wasn't about to risk that.

"Solas." She tasted his name on her tongue. His name – pride in their mother tongue – tasted sweet as it rolled off. She uttered it in need, desire… everything that he stirred in her on a daily basis.

"You're hurt," Solas protested. Nonetheless, the apostate eased her up against a tree. His hands were gentle as they explored every inch while avoiding her broken ribs. His kisses were fire, searing into her flesh with every touch.

Athelanna pressed her hips into his to silence his objections. She needed him right now. She needed to feel his heat inside of her, to feel his smooth body pressed against her breasts, to silence the words that threatened to spill. A budding erection pressed back. The contact broke for a second as Solas pushed his gear from his back. His staff clattered against the gorged tree roots, his pack slumping behind his feet. Athelanna kicked the pack away as Solas reclaimed his space against her body. "You need to help me take off my clothes," Athelanna croaked as his hungry lips sought the skin on her neck.

Gray eyes met her own. There was a wolfishness in them she could not deny, a hunger that excited her. He lifted her tunic over her head, breaking his gaze for just a second. The moment he tossed her tunic aside, Solas set to unwrapping the band that held her breasts in place. An appreciated groan fell from his lips the moment they were freed, his lips taking to taut nipples without a second to spare. White fingers clawed at his tunic, wordlessly begging to have him take it off. Solas pushed her hands aside, dropped to his knees, and pulled her leggings down to her ankles. The apostate flicked his gaze upwards, a wolfish grin spread at his lips. _He likes throwing me into a tizzy._ She watched, panting, as Solas pushed his lips between her legs. _Fuck, I like it too._

Pleasure bloomed from the heat between her legs. She cried out as her apostate's talented tongue flicked against her clitoris. Seeking purchase, Athelanna's white fingers dug into his shoulders. Solas hummed, sending vibrations up her spine that left her breathless. His tongue darted inside her opening and around her heat, his speed increasing the more she begged to him in their mother tongue. Athelanna hooked a leg over his shoulder. Her ribs screamed in protest, but every flick of Solas' tongue cancelled out the pain.

The second he pushed a long finger inside of her, then two, was almost too much. Athelanna's spine curved against the tree, her breasts pushed out against the cool morning light. She cried out as her body shook with orgasm. Her vision swam, his gray eyes swirling and his smirk pulling in impossible directions. Solas held her as she pooled into his arms. _Ma serannas, ma'arlath. _When he kissed her, she tasted her heat on his tongue. His kiss steadied her vision and her weak knees. "Are you ready for more?" His breath was cool against her flushed skin. Athelanna nodded numbly.

Once he was sure Athelanna could stand on her own, Solas pulled off his tunic and leggings. She licked her lips, admiring the way the early morning light lit up his slim body. His beauty was softly spoken, only meant for her eyes. His muscles were honed and perfected by many years of travel and wielding his staff to perform fantastic magic. Sweat beaded on his chest, slipping between his pectorals. _How can someone so beautiful be mine?_

Solas collected their clothes and laid them out to make a space for them to lie down. The apostate took her hand and eased her onto the makeshift blanket of elven tunics and leggings. The pain in her ribs was a muffled cry as Solas helped her onto her back. He tossed her a concerned look before he climbed in between her legs. "Are you sure you're okay?" Solas' hand slid up her inner thigh. He was just a fingertip from touching her again, and gods she wanted it so badly.

Athelanna grinned. "Shut up and make love to me, _ma fen._" She propped herself up with the arm on her good side to get a better look at his slender, marbled physique. "See? I'm just fine." To prove her point, Athelanna reached for his erection with the arm from her bad side. Her ribs twanged, but she wanted to see _him_ react this time. She lived to see his polite façade twist with pleasure and to hear him moan her name.

Solas smirked and smacked her hand away. "Behave," he warned. His hand slid between her legs, his fingers caressing her until Athelanna squirmed in pleasure.

"_Ar nuvenin ne_," Athelanna whispered heatedly. She met his eyes and the apostate crawled up to capture her in a hot kiss. He was careful with her side – agonizingly so. Athelanna opened her lips to form a complaint when she felt his girth slide into her heat. All complaints dried on her lips.

He was thick and all encompassing. Athelanna tossed her head back against their tunics, a moan slipping from her bruised lips. His lips tasted the skin on her neck, his breath hot against her. Soft moans filled the clearing. Solas' moans were a melody. Athelanna wrapped her legs around his waist, needing to feel his girth deeper. There would be no difference between him and her.

Solas thrust into her, again, and again, and again. Each thrust reached deeper and each thrust was met by a scream of ecstasy. Her hips rocked along with him, desiring more and more. White fingers raked up his back as the apostate shivered. His moans were loud in her ear. There was nothing else. There was only Solas.

Solas adjusted his hips and continued to push into her, causing stars to explode in her vision. Athelanna's back arched – she couldn't even feel her ribs anymore – and her breasts pressed against his lean chest. He kept hitting _the_ spot, and suddenly she wasn't coherent anymore. Her whole body shuddered once more. Words escaped her. Solas' final cry of ecstasy barely rang in her ears. The apostate rolled off of her immediately. Athelanna curled up next to him, savoring the sound of his heavy breathing. Numb hands played with the charm at his chest. Her eyes trailed from his chest to his sweat-beaded face, a grin blooming at her lips. The polite façade was gone. This was Solas, with his eyebrows furrowed, his pupils dilated, and his lips parted.

He wrapped his arm around her slender waist and pulled Athelanna on top of him. There was no need for words between them. Athelanna wasn't sure if she could even form words right now. She was pleased to see that Solas looked just as incapacitated as she was.

Athelanna tucked her face into the crook of his neck. She inhaled his musk of sweat and ecstasy. They laid in each other's embrace as the sun raised behind the trees. When Solas kissed her ear, she knew their time was over. "We should go back to camp, Vhenan."

"But I told them I was going out. They won't be looking for me." Athelanna protested weakly. She wrapped her arms around his neck, refusing to let go.

His chuckle vibrated in her ear. "I'm very proud of you, but we must. _Halam'shivanas._" Solas gently pried her off of him. Athelanna grumbled but eventually accepted his hand to get to her feet.

The elves dressed – Athelanna with Solas' help – and departed the clearing. She wasn't ready to face the day, to be the Inquisitor again. She very much wished to be ravaged by Solas until the sun sank once more. "Will you let me ride along today? I figured I'd ask before I just came along." Athelanna leaned against him as they walked.

Solas smiled at her. "If you promise to keep far enough away from harm, then I suppose I cannot stop you."

Athelanna could see camp approaching. She doubted Dorian was up, but she could see Blackwall hauling wood for a fire. It was time to be Athelanna the Inquisitor once more. Athelanna glanced at the elf to her right and caught his smile still present. Her chest bloomed with warmth. The words bubbled in her throat, threatening to spill. She had so much love for this kind, gentle elf that if she did not tell him, she knew she would regret it. "_Ma emma lath_."

The smile faltered and his eyes widened. His fingers tightened around hers. "Athelanna…" She felt her heart skip a beat. Would he turn her down? Did she just ruin this?

"I-It's okay. I just… well, I just wanted to tell you how I feel. You don't have to say it back." Athelanna pulled her gaze away. She didn't want to look into the face of rejection. When Solas didn't say anything, she wriggled out of his grasp to seek safety in her tent. She didn't get far before Solas pulled her back.

Here, she was forced to face him. Athelanna tried to look away, but Solas only took her by the chin so he could look her in the eye. "_Ma emma lath_." Solas parroted.

Athelanna felt her heart skip a beat. This could not be real. "Are you sure?" she whispered. She knew he would not lie to her, but she had to be sure.

"I do not take such things lightly," Solas answered solemnly. She bit her lip. Tears threatened to fall.

"Ma emma lath. Ma vhenan'ara." Athelanna said as Solas brushed back her tears.

A small smile touched his lips. Solas pulled the Inquisitor into a kiss, gentle and tender.

It was real. _This is real._

* * *

_Well shit guys. I hope this turned out alright._

_**Elvish Translation Guy:**_

**_Mir Da'len Somniar (A Dalish Lullaby):_  
**

**_"Elgara vallas, da'len_**

**_Melava somniar_**

**_Mala tara aravas_**

**_Ara ma'desen melar_**

**_Iras ma ghilas, da'len._**

**_Ara ma'nedan ashir_**

**_Dirthara lothlenan'as_**

**_Bal emma mal dir._**

**_Tel'enfenim, da'len_**

**_Irassel ma ghilas_**

**_Ma garas mir renan_**

**_Ara ma'athlan vhenas_**

**_Ara ma'athlan vhenas"_**

"Sun sets, little one

Time to dream

Your mind journeys,

But I will hold you here.

Where will you go, little one

Lost to me in sleep?

Seek truth in a forgotten land

Deep with in your heart

Never fear, little one,

Wherever you shall go

Follow my voice-

I will call you home.

I will call you home."

**Emm'asha: **my girl

**Ma serannas, ma'arlath: **Thank you, my love

**Ar nuvenin ne: **I need you.

**Halam'shivanas: **The sweet sacrifice of duty.

**Ma emma lath: **You are my love.

**Ma vhenen'ara: **My heart's desire.


End file.
